Daron's Quest
by Paint a story. Write a picture
Summary: 9Daron99 doesn't live a fancy life with his wife Katra, he's a glorified tramp, who hasn't done anything with his life, and doesn't know how to. But when a Dark Dragon invades his village, and kills hundreds, he knows what he must do. Slay the Dragon.
1. Chapter 1 Loss

**Daron's Quest  
****Chapter 1: Loss**

His eyes slowly shifted open, blearily, as he came into consciousness. 9Daron99 tried to look ahead of him, but his vision was obscured, vague shapes floating around his line of sight, nothing distinct enough to make out. Daron tried lifting his arms, but trying to make him feel delirious, he just about had enough energy to bring them up to his face and rub his eyes, drowsily. He felt terrible, the taste of bile lingering in his throat, his eyes red, and puffy, his stubbled face and messy hair, his dishevelled features and his dark eyes putting his profile into contrast. He was lying on something, without a blanket, still wearing a white vest and black denim jeans. What he was lying on wasn't clear, it didn't feel too hard, but it wasn't comfortable either. He tried to shake his head, and concentrate, but just shaking his head added enormously to the pulsating headache in his forehead. He rolled over onto hid back, but rolled over a little too far, and fell, flat on the unforgiving carpet with a few millimetres of soft material, and an inch of hard material below that. He found himself staring up at a blurry white ceiling, it was either looming over him, or hiding away from him, he could not make out perspectives. He looked to his left, and saw something that looked vaguely like a TV, looking to his right, he saw the black fireplace, and the mantelpiece. Looking directly behind him, he saw the sofa, which he must have fallen asleep on the night before. He lay there, and considered. Or, tried to, rather, it hurt his head to think. Eventually, he had to get up, this was the reality. But, he was hungover, and could barely move. No, screw the hangover, he could do it, he could get up, he could move, he had to. He summoned up all the energy he owned in his body, tensing his muscles, clearing his mind, and leaned up. He felt dizzy, all of a sudden, horribly dizzy, and sweltering, the feeling one got before being sick.

He fell back down to his hands and knees, and threw up upon the carpet. A horrible taste lingered in his mouth, he tried to ignore it, but, he still needed the energy to get up, and get his girlfriend. No, Katra wouldn't want to see him hungover like this, he would have to deal with it on his own. He got up, with enormous difficulty, and staggered out of the room, unable to walk in a straight line, as he veered out into the corridor, slamming into the wall, before turning around, and walking towards the kitchen. Retching, a burning sensation came over him again, he tried to fight the feeling, but he could taste the bile in his throat, rising, he made it to the kitchen, before he threw up again. Scrambling around in one of the cupboards, he found a large bowl which he slammed onto the table, upside-down, before roaming around, trying to find a glass to get a glass of water. Just as he found the right cupboard, hands reached out, and opened it for him. Those hands took a glass, ran it under the tap, and handed it to Daron. Daron slowly turned around. It was Katra. In her dressing gown, staring at him, a mixture of exasperation and defeat upon her face. She pulled up a chair, sat Daron down, and upturned the bowl incase he needed it. Daron looked miserable. He took a swig of the water, half of which ran down his face, half of which remained in his mouth, which he did not swallow. Instead, he gargled with it, and waltzed over to the sink, where he spat it out again. He sat down again.

There was a long silence. Neither Daron or Katra said anything for a while. Until, Katra, gave a small sigh, and Daron lowered his head onto the table.

"Daron ..." she struggled to find words. She was not angry, more exhausted. "Daron, this can't go on, you know? You can't keep living off of me, and then stagger into my home, drunk, every night. You've got to do something with your life, Dan." Daron merely gave a groan, which was his way of saying, 'I'd like to say something, but I'm too hungover.'

"Your life has got to change, and it's gonna start today. We're gonna sober you up, and then get you off to a restaurant to get breakfast. After that, we're going to go job-hunting. Come on, you go lie down on the sofa again, I'll clean up the mess, give you a blanket, a glass of water, and some time to get yourself well rested. Then, we're going out," she said firmly. Daron could do nothing but mutter "Yeah," and let her take him by the hand, and lead him over to the lounge. He sat back down on the sofa, and, within two minutes, he had fallen fast asleep, oblivious to Katra, in the background, sitting behind him, stroking his hair. In five minutes, when Daron had started to snore, she gave him a kiss on the forehead, and went upstairs to get changed.

Daron stuck the fork into the pile of spaghetti, miserably, twirling the fork around, before leaving it to stand upright. He was unhappy, and it was obvious. Reaching his hand out for his glass of wine - that Katra had bought for him - he decided not to, and lowered his hand on the table halfway to the glass. Daron's mood was making Katra feel a little concerned. She reached over the table, and held his hand in hers.

"Hey, Dan, cheer up, I mean, come on, we're gonna go and get you a job after breakfast! You'll be able to start living your own life!" Daron looked up at her.

"Yeah, I'll have a great life, I'll get a few gold coins a week for bagging shopping at the local General Store," Daron replied unenthusiastically. Katra squeezed his hand, and leant over to give him a kiss on the lips.

"That's never going to happen, Dan. The smithing firm I work for, I can get you a job in admin, easy, high up on the charts, making more than me.

"Don't exaggerate, the best you'll be able to get me at Smiths & Jones is a job as a delivery boy. You know that as well as I do." Katra sighed.

"I suppose you may be right, Daron, but you've _got_ to at least have _hope_. Hope is the essence of life, without it, all will be lost. Remember those words, treasure them, some day, you'll find out what hope can do for you. I mean -" Katra started. She broke off, mid-sentence. Something was strange about the expression forming on her face. It was concern, but not concern for Daron. Daron followed her eye as it suddenly moved to her wine glass. The golden liquid inside had broken equilibreum, and was starting to ripple. She looked at Daron's glass, it was doing the same. Something was vibrating underfoot, Daron could feel it, too. Katra's eyes narrowed. Daron had lifted his head, and was now as distracted as Katra. Something was wrong. Daron slowly got up from his seat, tucking his chair in, he had only moved a few paces before it happened. The whole building shook violently, Daron was sent toppling to the floor, he banged his head on the leg of a table, and swore loudly, clutching his forehead, but, his voice was drowned out by the deafening noise that followed. A piercing, agonising roar, that could be heard miles away. Daron shielded his ears, but the roar still pounded in his ears. At last, it subsided, Katra got up, grabbed Daron, and ran towards the entrance. The bouncer on the door stopped them in the path, he looked terrified.

"Don't go out there! It's a Dragon! A Dark Dragon's come to Azñaon!" Daron and Katra were petrified to the spot.

Silence followed throughout the restaurant. Then, the screams filled the room. Madness consumed the small room as people tryed to find some way out, the staff all urging them to stay inside. Katra had already drawn her sword and shield. And then, once more, the Dragon overhead let out a scream, everyone was immediately crippled, the sound had a strange paralysing effect that rendered people unable to move at the sound of it. Katra had her hands over her ears, still holding sword and shield, but, she could see Daron, and was trying to communicate to him. Then, the roar subsided, and she was able to talk.

"Daron! I can use the sword! It'll let us move when the Dragon roars!" She shouted, over the screams coming from the people in the restaurant. Daron nodded, and, together, they ran outside, the bouncer tried to stop them, but Katra held her sword in front of her, so the bouncer could not get any nearer.

"But, you'll get killed!" He protested.

"No, if the Dragon takes down this building, you'll all be crushed, it's safer away from this village," Katra shouted back.

"You'll never get out of the village, not with that Dragon!" Katra ignored him, and the pair began to run. They could see the village now, it was already partially destroyed, whole buildings lay in rubble, dead, mutilated bodies littered the street, and those who were alive were running, screaming, in all different directions. They looked up as they ran, and saw the Dark Dragon, up ahead. As they saw the gargantuan beast, they skidded to a halt, and ran in the opposite direction, stopping somebody heading the other way at the same time, bringing them away from the Dragon. but, the Dark Dragon had seem Katra and Daron, and it turned around, to stalk upon it's fresh prey.

It roared, but, that did not stop Katra and Daron, Katra clutched the powerful sword tightly, and, it started to glow a bright white, pulsating vibrantly, illuminating the carnage that surrounded them. The sword was priceless, a heretic sword that had been passed down through her family for hundreds of years. And, it was saving their life down, by dispelling the paralysis that the Dark Dragon's roar caused. But, both of them knew that they could not outrun the Dragon forever. They turned a sharp corner, sprinting as fast as they could down the village streets, the Dragon behind them, destroying everything in it's path, including people. Daron and Katra saw a tight alleyway, and ran down it, hoping it would put off the Dragon. But, no, it would not, the Dragon simply flew above the alleyway, and breathed fire upon them, which they managed to dodge by a matter of inches. Suddenly, Katra tripped over. Daron got her up, but then dived, taking her with him, out of the way of a torrent of fire from the Dragon. They quickly scrambled up, and burst out of the alleyway. Now all they could do was keep on running. Daron and Katra were both exhausted, but the pure fear kept them going, the terror of what chased them. Katra, as she ran, fished around in her rucksack for her quiver, but, as she was doing so, she didn't see what lay on the ground in front of her. It was a piece of shrapnel, she ran into it, and sliced her shin open, making her trip over. The pain made her scream, Daron urged her to get up, but she couldn't, so he took her sword and held it in front of him, shielding her, as the Dragon approached. It was only as the Dragon did come to a stop, that he suddenly realized, he didn't know how to use it.

He was sweating, terrified, as the Dark Dragon came closer. It roared, the pain shuddered through him, but he could still move, in that time, he tried to get Katra up, she just managed to get up with Daron's help, but, she was now sobbing, and she could not move forward at all. Daron handed her the sword, and spun round, as the Dragon raised it's claws. There was nothing he could do. His eyes widened as everything seemed to slow down, time came to a halt, spectating the incident about to happen. The claws of the Dragon glinted in the sunlight, and paused for a second. The sword did not matter, Daron was paralysed, with fear, he could not move, and, it was then, that the Dragon swiped. Daron closed his eyes, and felt nothing. Nothing came. There was no pain, no sense of dying, and, he opened his eyes. Maybe the Dragon had decided to go, or had been killed. But, no, it was still there, it had struck, and let out a triumphant cry, that hurt Daron's ears. He looked towards Katra, if they hurried, they could get away while the Dragon was distracted. He saw her. She was transfixed, doing nothing, staring ahead of her, at the Dragon, her eyes null, and lifeless. Daron's heart pounded. Everything seemed to go in slow motion again. Katra, fell backwards, onto the hard, concrete pathway, her head rolled to one side, and her stomach was exposed, her skin ripped apart, mutilated, with five distinct claw markings upon it. Katra, was dead.

It wasn't real. It wasn't happening. This couldn't all be true, Katra couldn't be dead, she had to be alive, she had to, Daron thought desperately.

"Katra! Katra! No, Katra, wake up, Katra! Katra, come on, baby, wake up, Katra!" Tears streamed down his face as he screamed in desperation at the lifeless figure that lay, ragged and bloodied, upon the floor, utterly dead, she was now far from where Daron's cries could be heard. He did not care about the Dragon, let it kill him, he had nothing left now, Katra was gone, dead. There was nothing he could do. He sobbed over Katra's dead body, as he heard the Dragon roar behind him, he knew it was raising it's claws for the second time, and this was Daron's last moment too. Protecting her body from any further harm, crouched down upon the floor, he shouted,

"Goodbye, Katra, I'm coming for you." He closed his eyes, tears still running down his face.

The Dragon swiped. Daron felt everything move at once in a blur of colour, as he was thrown away, out of the Dragon's reach. Somebody had dived to protect Daron, to get him out of the way, that man now brought Daron up, and ushered him away. Daron had never seen him before, the man wore Dragon armour, and carried a sword and shield, his stubbled face deadly serious.

"Go, get out of the way, go now!" The man shouted at Daron, he was holding Daron back, who desperately wanted to stay by Katra, with his other hand, the man waved the sword in the air, and sliced the Dragon's arm, causing it to roar in pain. It was the fact that Daron still held Katra's sword, and that the man was holding Daron back, that saved that man from the paralysis that would have consumed him otherwise.

"No, Katra, no! Let me get to her, I want to die by her side!"

"No!" The man bellowed at Daron. "She died to protect you, and you'll get out of here now, else she'll have died in vein!"

"But if you stay, you'll be paralysed, you need this sword to dispel it!" Hearing this, the man reached out a gloved hand, and gripped the hilt of Daron's sword tightly, in the meantime, slashing at the Dragon with his sword. The sword Daron held in his hand glowed brightly, and, when the man relinquished, his two hands were glowing with the same bright magic that dispelled the paralysis caused by the Dragon's roar. Stepping forward, the man thrust the sword at the Dragon, the Dragon gripped the sword, and held it away from itself, the man withdrew and struck again, this time, he hit it. While the Dragon was roaring in pain, the man fished around in his pockets, and brought out a strange object, like a stone, only square, with some blue markings on it. He threw it directly beneath Daron, a hole opened up in the floor beneath Daron, and Daron fell into the teleport, away from the Dragon, to safety, away from Katra's body, leaving the man to fend off the Dragon.

Daron fell, feet first, from a hole that opened up in the sky, onto a deserted field. No Dragon, no people, infact, this was not the village at all. This was somewhere else, somewhere on another part of Azñaon, far away from the man that had saved him, far away from Katra's body. Daron fell to his knees. He thought of Katra. He would never see her again, never hear her laugh, never kiss her on the lips, never wrap his arms around her. He buried his face in his hands, and sobbed, at the thought of it all, wishing that he would just die, that it would all be over, that he could just take the quick exit. He yelled in grief, he did not care who heard him, nothing mattered anymore, not now that Katra was dead. It was a good twenty minutes, alone, in the field, in somewhere that he didn't recognise, to stop crying. He didn't want to do anything. He just lay there, in the empty field full of corn, silent, miserable, lonely.

Another half-an-hour passed, where Daron simply lay, not having spoken a word, crying a couple of times, but otherwise silent. Nothing really mattered, anymore, life was just endless loss and misery, forever. Why was he living, now? Why were the gods making him live, why couldn't he just go, fall asleep, forever? He wanted to die, he wanted no more of this dreadful existence. It was about another half hour before Daron finally summoned the energy to stand up. For the first time since he had arrived, he looked around. He was in a field full of corn, that much he had already gathered. A wooden fence surrounded this field from the other dozens of fields which stretched out into the horizon. No buildings, houses, shacks, anything. It was when he looked around for the second time, when he jumped, as he saw someone else, sitting on a tree stump, watching him idly, smiling at him. He was not wearing any armour, but a black work suit and tie, and looked quite out of place. His hair was dark, and everywhere, contrasting to his neat attire, and his smart features, even the line of stubble on his chin looked dignified. As he saw Daron up, he stood up himself.

"I'm Ulrich. I was at work, but I came when I heard someone out here. I thought you were in trouble, or something." Daron did not smile. Instead, he was horribly aware of the fact that Ulrich may have been here for a good hour, listening to him cry. He decided to move past it, or, at least try to.

"Where ... where am I?" Daron asked Ulrich, looking around again.

"You're still on Azñaon," Ulrich assured Daron. "This is just outside a suburbia, called Kalan. If you like, I can take you back to Yañé, to say goodbye to Katra." Daron looked up, and reacted without thinking. He charged forward, at Ulrich, and took him off his feet, sending him crashing to the ground. Pinning him down, Daron shouted,

"Who the hell are you?! How do you know all about what happened?" Ulrich smiled, grabbing Daron with one arm, he threw Daron off of him with ease, and stood up. Wiping dust off his suit, he then held still, as he began to change. His black executive suit disappeared, and was replaced by Dragon Armour. In his hands materialized a Dragon sword and shield. The shield, he hung on his back, the sword, he slid into a scabbard.


	2. Chapter 2 The Quest Begins

**Daron's Quest  
****Chapter 2: The Quest Begins**

"I was in Yañé at the time the Dark Dragon came and killed Katra, remember? I sent you here, out of harm's way," the man reminded him. At the last two words, Daron's face fell, the memory came back to him. "I'm sorry about Katra, Daron. I really am." Ulrich stepped forward and rested a hand on Daron's shoulder. Daron paused, and considered.

"No, this isn't right. You knew my name. You knew Katra's name. You knew where I live. You know a hell of alot more than you should, Ulrich." Ulrich ignored this.

"Daron, do you want to go back to Yañé?" He said quietly. Daron did not answer for a while. Silence followed, as Daron stared at nowhere in particular, dwelling over this proposition. It was a simple choice, yes or no. But, it was not an easy choice. Seeing Katra would break him, but, he had to say goodbye. Yes, he had to say goodbye. He had to go.

"Yeah," Daron muttered, just loud enough for Ulrich to hear. Daron closed his eyes, he felt Ulrich hold him close as they fell into the Teleport that would take Daron baack to Katra.

Daron rubbed his backside as he landed on hard, unforgiving concrete of Yañé. He opened his eyes.

"No ..." Daron said aloud, as he looked around at what was left of Yañé. Corpses, mutilated and disfigured, littered the streets, some buried amongst the rubble of the buildings nearby that had been destroyed. There were few buildings left in sight that hadn't crumbled at the strike of the cataclysm. A few survivors were walking amongst the carnage, devastated, some crying alone, some in the arms of family or friends, some leaning over the dead bodies of their loved ones. The Dragon had crippled Yañé to breaking point, and there was little left to be crippled anymore. His hometown, reduced to the rubble that covered the corpses. The dead bodies of people that meant something to Yañé, somebody's mother or father, husband or wife, son or daughter. The sight saddened Daron. Ulrich remained adamant, but Daron knew that, inside, he was mourning the people of Yañé in his head. It was a few minutes before they stepped forward, walking amongst the wreckage. Daron knew what he was looking for, and it wouldn't be hard with half of the village flattened. Yet, it was about five minutes before he and Ulrich had stumbled onto the right place. The dead body of a woman lay dumped upon the floor. Daron walked up to her. It was definitely Katra. The shock, and fear, was still etched upon her beautiful face, held forever. Daron kneeled down, and leaned closer towards her. Stroking her hair gently, he bent towards her, and kissed her on the forehead. Tears came, as he gently closed her eyelids, and stood up. Ulrich rested his hand on Daron's shoulder, and said to him, quietly,

"Daron, do you still have Katra's sword?" Daron did not reply, but he nodded, and, standing up, pulled out the enchanted Rune sword that had passed down Katra's family for so many generations, and now would not pass on by blood. He held it in his hands, Ulrich lifted in gently, and held the hilt in his hand, that was now gloved again. Then, with the other hand, he grabbed the hilt, and pulled it. Daron's tear-stained eyes widened. Instead of just tugging away, another completely identical sword slid away from the Rune sword, it was exactly the same, carrying the same enchantment. The original one, Ulrich handed back to Daron. Daron recovered quickly, he took the original sword, and gently placed it by Katra's side. Then, Daron rolled her onto her back, and moved her arms into a dignified position.

"Here, let me heal her wound," said Ulrich gently, moving past Daron, towards Katra. He raised his hands, as a pure white energy began to amass, a magical substance whiter than snow. Then, leaning towards her, he placed his hands on her mutilated stomach. If Daron had been surprised when Ulrich had duplicated the enchanted sword, he was now amazed. As Ulrich closed his eyes, and the energy swirled about his hands, the grotesque body organs hanging, limp, from Katra's torso, slid back, like snakes burrowing into a hole in the ground. Her skin began to regrow, fizzing as it formed over her stomach, closing the wound, and her blood dried up, then evaporated. Within a minute, Katra looked as if she had never been touched. Her ripped clothes had even reformed. Ulrich smiled warmly at her, and then rose to his feet. Daron was astounded. He could not believe what he had just seen. Dazed, he stepped forward, towards Ulrich, and pulled him into a hug. Ulrich patted Daron on the back, and muttered in his ear,

"We should go, Daron, before it gets any harder. You've said goodbye, now, come on, let's go." Daron closed his eyes, and nodded resignedly, knowing that it would not get any easier to leave if he stayed her for the rest of his life." Still holding onto Daron, Ulrich dropped a Teleport, to take them over to Kalan. Daron fell, but was used to the sensation already, he did not react.

He landed softly, this time, upon grass. Looking around, he took in the suburbia, Kalan was not vast, nor mighty, but it was peaceful. Few buildings hung around, instead there were mostly houses, and market stalls, with people milling about conspicously amongst others, none appearing to be doing much whatsoever. Outside the small region were grassy fields, a wind farm in the distance, and a small stream trailing off into the distance. There were few trees around, just grass and small plants filling the horizon. Kalan couldn't have been easy to find if you didn't know where to look. He thought he recognised the spot where Ulrich had taken him first, but, all the fields looked identical. Ulrich did not speak. Daron looked behind him, about to ask Ulrich where they were going to go, but, there was no-one there. Ulrich was gone. He had vanished into the wind. Ran off, probably, abandoning Daron to do nothing with himself. Daron felt a wave of anger swoop over him, before he felt sadness, and loneliness. He was right next to Kalan, but, that changed nothing. Katra wasn't there with him. He might have enjoyed coming somewhere like here, for a holiday, with her. That would have been blissful. They could've sat under the shade of a tree, lay down a mat and enjoy a picnic with one another, laughing, and talking to each other, and holding each other in their arms. But, no, that couldn't happen anymore. Katra was dead, now. Daron sat down, and sighed. Tears did not come, anymore. Just desolate misery. Desolate misery. That sounded poetic. But poetry would not help him now, he thought, returning to his senses, nothing would. There was little or nothing for it, now. He could wait here five minutes, ten minutes, an hour, but another Ulrich would not come along. He was alone, now, and had to find some way of starting his new life. It struck Daron, that he did not know how to live, in truth. He did not know how to cook, how to light a fire, how to craft or smelt or smith or mine a thing. Katra would have known. She would have been able to help him learn. Maybe ... there was somebody in the village, or a group of people, a tutoring program, perhaps. Or a tutorial, of sorts. Maybe there was an island, somewhere away from Azñaon, which held everything he needed to learn within, a Tutorial Island of sorts. Or, maybe there was somewhere in Kandarin, or Misthalin, the places near by Azñaon.

Azñaon was within neither, it was an island off of Kandarin. Daron had heard of Kandarin, Katra had told him all about it, years ago, when they had first met. He had never been there, though, he had never set foot outside of Azñaon. To be honest, he hadn't even ventured that far out of Yañé, only a few small villages within two or three miles. He wondered if there were Dragons on Azñaon ...  
Daron thought of the Dragon. He did not even know how to fight, he wouldn't be much use put up against a Dragon. He got up, and started walking towards Kalan. It took him less than a minute to get there, Ulrich had brought him right to the outskirts. Walking through the houses and market stalls, he was unnoticed by the residents of Kalan, who still seemed to be doing nothing in particular but walking animatedly one way or the other. A few were talking, else stopping at a stall to buy some fruit, or bread, or meat, or even fish. Daron looked lustfully at the stalls filled with fresh food, enough for one man to never be hungry again. Forcing himself to move past it, he delved further into Kalan. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, maybe someone who could help him, or give him somewhere to stay. As he looked around the streets that were becoming a little more cluttered, he saw a clearing in the row of buildings, a large, grassy area, enclosed by a low, wooden fence. There were dozens of trees around here, but nobody there. At least, it looked like that. Curious, he stepped forward, towards the garden-like enclosure. It looked out of place in a suburban village.

He thought he saw a tree rustle. It shook, first lightly, and then more violently, leaves started to shed from it. And, just behind it, Daron could hear a strange sound coming from it, something whacking against the tree trunk. Then, without warning, the tree fell down altogether, leaving a bare tree stump. Behind it, was revealed a man, bulky and well-built, with a rough, un-even face, a scarlet short-sleeved shirt showing his huge muscles, and green trousers held up by straps wrapped around his shoulders. In his hands, he carried an axe, but much bigger than a conventional woodcutting axe, as Daron recognized it to be, with a blood-red, curved blade, and a large, elder-wood handle. The blade was the colour of a dragon, a red dragon, Daron knew a little about them from books he had read as a child. The huge man did not look satisfied, he merely continued to cut down the next tree. Daron, out of curiosity, stepped forward, and walked into the enclosure. As the man hacked away at the tree with the axe that Daron didn't know was a Dragon axe, he turned around, as Daron approached.

"Why're you cutting down all this?" Daron asked him. The man looked bemused.

"Why? I'm training woodcutting, thankyou very much," he said, as, with one last almighty swing, he felled the tree. Daron was puzzled.

"Training? Wood cutting?" He reiterated. The man chortled.

"Woodcutting, it's one word, and it's a skill," the man explained. "I take it you're new to skills?"

"I guess I am," said Daron, shrugging. The man walked towards Daron.

"Well, then, let me explain to you," said the man, smiling. "There are 24 skills, basic abilities, with certain aspects of them. At the start of your life, all your skills start at 1, except for your health, which is how many hits you can take before you die. In Kandarin and Misthalin, the lucky sods have something, a source of magic which enables them to come back to life after death. No such privilege in Azñaon, but, hey, there you go. That's why you've gotta be careful, and why some parents tend not to want to teach kids combat, incase they get themselves killed. Makes sense, really. Oh, I forgot to even mention that skills come in levels, you were probably wondering what I meant by 'all skills start at 1'. So, yeah, they start at level 1, except for hitpoints. You can get skills up, by training them, such as, woodcutting ..." The man walked over to the trees.

"When I cut down a tree, I get logs, obviously, and, from this, I get experience. Some folks call it xp, but I call it experience. If I cut alot of trees, and get alot of experience, eventually, I'll go up a level. And, as I get lots of levels up, I can cut better trees. Right now, my woodcutting level is 99, which means I can cut normal trees, oak trees, maple trees, willow trees, eucalyptus trees, magic trees, all kinds. Right now, _you_, can only cut normal trees. There are some right here. Give it a go, take this spare axe I have on me, and try and cut down a tree," said the man, handing Daron a normal woodcutting axe.

"Why can't I borrow yours?" Daron asked him. He chuckled.

"Because, firstly, I value this Dragon axe ..." Daron winced at the word 'Dragon', "And, secondly, because you can't wield it yet! Levels also count for what equipment you can wield, sometimes, so, right now, at Level 1 woodcutting, you can only wield a normal axe. As you get your levels up, you can wield better axes, until, eventually, in alot of time to come, you'll be able to wield this." The man gestured at the Dragon axe. Daron walked over to a nearby tree. The man steered him round, and pointed to another tree.

"This one, you can cut." Daron held the axe in his hands. Weighing it in his hands, he was quite unsure of what to do with it. He had never used an axe before, never even held one. The man laughed, as he saw Daron quite clueless. "Alright, kid, let me help you out." The man walked towards Daron, and took the axe. He grabbed Daron, and led him over to the nearest tree. "Cutting down a tree is simple. All you have to do, is use the axe properly. Now, hold it ..." Daron held it, the man took Daron's hands and raised them. "Grip it tightly, make sure you have a firm hold on that handle ... good, yeah. Now, gently, lift it back ... and swing in the direction of the tree."

Daron held the axe as tightly as he could, his hands were going red, as he lifted the axe back. The axe was so heavy for Daron, that, he fell backwards, and nearly landed on the axe, which he would have done, had the man not caught him just in time.

"Careful, mate, remember, if you die in Azñaon, you die for good." Daron bit his lip. He brought up the axe one more time. Pulling it back, preparing to swing, he heard a _thud_ and somebody falling to the floor. He turned around. The man was lying on the floor, clutching his nose, which Daron had hit with the handle by accident. Seeing what he had done, Daron clasped his hands to his mouth, and, in doing so, dropped the axe, which landed on the man's toe, causing him to swear in pain. Fortunately, the blade had not hit him. He got up, Daron reiterating apologies as the man dismissed them, urging him to try one last time with the tree. So Daron lifted the axe, for the third time. He lifted it back ... and he let go. Stifling a scream as the axe flew out of his reach, and out of the enclosure, the man had seen what happened. Within one second, the man had withdrawn a few strange silver stones, and amassed a bright orb of energy. Daron had no time to look amazed, for the man had fired the orb before Daron could blink, it pierced through the air, and collided with the axe. Orb and axe, disappeared. The moment the magical ball of energy had made contact with the axe, it had consumed the axe within, and imploded. Daron was amazed, and even more amazed as he saw the man carrying that same axe in his hands. He was angry. Clutching the axe tight in his hands, he walked towards Daron, and placed the axe down on the floor.

"You've got to be careful, for the sake of Saradomin! You could have killed someone! If I hadn't stopped that axe in mid-air, it would've stabbed someone!" Taking his Dragon Axe, he walked towards a tree. Daron thought that he had given up on him, that he was now going back to what he was doing, leaving Daron, to waste away, but then, he barked, "Now watch me, kid!" The man brought the axe back, and swung at the tree, hitting it at the base. Within one swing, he had felled it. "You bring the bloody axe back, hold it tight, _don't_ let go, and then swing. How hard is that supposed to be, kid, ay? He picked up the bronze axe from the ground. He then handed it to Daron.  
"Who d'ya hate most in life? Who? (And don't say me, for the sake of Saradomin!)" The man barked at Daron.  
"Dragons," replied Daron simply. The man pointed at the tree.  
"See that tree over there? That tree's a Dragon. Now go get it!" He shouted. "Go slay it, boy! Hack it's chest and stab it's heart!" Daron held the axe. he gripped it tightly. He thought of Katra, again, and the Dragon that had slayed her. He would slay that Dragon. He would get revenge, some day. He would kill it himself. One day, he would go to Misthalin, in search of the Dragon, he knew they mostly lived above Misthalin. Everything seemed to go in slow motion. The man's shouts of encouragement were drowned away, as Daron could hear only his own heartbeat. He looked down at the axe.

He, would slay the Dark Dragon.

He ran. He turned around, without even thinking, and ran, the anger, the bitter memories, the sadness, the feelings he felt when the Dragon had killed Katra. He would avenge her, he thought, as he ran towards the tree, it got nearer, and nearer, raising the axe, and letting out a roar of anger, he brought it back. He brought the axe down with all the force he could gather in his body, and thrust the blade upon the bark of the tree. He could do it. He could do it. He did do it! The blade sliced through the heart of the tree, and with an almightly lurch, the tree fell from it's stump, crashing to the ground. Breathing heavily, he dropped the axe onto the ground, raised his arms, and cheered. The man, all anger forgotten, now walked over sporting a huge grin, and gave him a huge slap on the back, which almost winded him, but made him pleased nonetheless.  
"You did it, kid. See that brown dragon with lots of bushy green arms, lying on it's side? That's because of you!" Daron was cheerful. "But, you know, I've gotta ask. Why Dragons? You afraid of them? 'Cause, to be honest, I can't say I've ever seen a Dragon in Azñaon ..." Daron's face fell. His cheery grin became a stony glare, and the man trailed off.

"Yañé. That's where I come from. A Dark Dragon came to Yañé and killed my wife, along with three quarters of the people in our area. It also destroyed most of Yañé." The man frowned.

"That must be hard on you." Daron nodded. "You know, we never properly introduced, my name's Koschei." Koschei held out a hand. Daron shook it.

"9Daron99, but call me Daron. What's your full name?" Koschei frowned.

"Koschei _is_ my full name. Although, some call me Koschei the Deathless. That or Koschei the Invisible, because, for some reason, nobody can see my combat level." Daron looked puzzled. "Oh, your combat level is your main level, it's affected by seven skills, and, the higher combat level you are, the more powerful you are. I'm only a level 138 right now, but, some people actually believe I hold the magic ability that renders me capable of breaking the restriction. For everyone else, 138 is the highest level you can attain, but, you know, I'm still gaining experience past the level people say it should stop at." Daron frowned aswell.

"That's strange."

"Yeah, I know. One day, I hope to be something real good one day, I mean, I'm already good, but some day, I want to be the best in Gielinor, above everybody," Koschei admitted. Daron smiled.

"That'd be wonderful. A sword in hand, and strength of mind, body, and soul, that would be true power."

Koschei groaned.  
"Honestly, I hate proverbs. The pen's mightier than the sword, or whatever, but the pen won't slice your enemy in half. Oh, bless Zamorak, that's a bloody proverb." This made Daron laugh. Koschei smiled too, but couldn't resist grinning. He dropped the smile, muttering, "Damn, I've gotta try and keep a neutral attitude." Koschei shook his head violently like somebody who was dizzy, trying to snap out of it. "I'm mentally training myself, aswell as physically training myself. If I'm going to be invincible one day, a positive demeanour won't help," Koschei explained. Ignoring this, Daron asked,

"You know, I never did ask ... these skills of mine ..." Koschei nodded to show he was listening. "I don't know them. I've no idea how to find out about my skills, or, how to keep track of them ... how do I do that?" Koschei looked upwards, as if trying to remember something, and then, fishing around in his pockets, he pulled out a scrap of parchment. He handed it to Daron.

"This is something you'll need throughout your life. Once you take it, it's impossible to get rid of it. Right now, it's blank ..." said Koschei, as Daron unfurled the piece of parchment, which indeed had nothing on it.

"But tap it with your finger, and it will be revealed. It'll only reveal for you, and you alone, now that it's in your posession. If I didn't want to give this to you, then you'd never be able to use it. I carry alot of spares, because newspawn are always bugging me to help them." Daron tapped the piece of parchment. He gasped. Where his finger had tapped it, a black, circular imprint appeared. It flickered through the colours of the rainbow, rapidly, as it spread across the paper, like spilled ink, lacing in and around the paper, colours forming, words shining upon it. Across the top, as if an invisible hand were writing the words: _Skills List_. Below that were two squares, one read: "Total Level," and carried the number "33" on it, next to that was a square labelled "Combat Level" with a mere 3 inside it. And beneath these two squares, were 24 squares, each with an Icon, and a fraction next to it. 23 of them read "1/1", but one in the middle of the top row read "10/10", next to a heart icon.

"That's your skill list. Tap one of the icons, Daron." Daron looked around, and tapped the picture of a wizard hat. Suddenly, the list disappeared, the ink fading away, and, in it's place, another list. At the top, it read "_Magic_". On the right-hand column were a few words, but in the main column, were more icons and words. Daron knew little of this, but this was what explained to him about each skill, and at what level he could do what. Koschei explained this to him.

"Oh, and, you'll need a back-pack aswell. To keep all your things in." Koschei held out his hands, as if feeling for rain, and, all of a sudden, it was with a dazzling light, that the shape of a back-pack materialized, and solidified. He handed the back-pack to Daron.

"Whoa, I can't wait to be able to make back-packs appear out of thin air!" Daron enthused, grinning. Koschei gave a smile.

"You need a high Magic and Summoning level. Very high. Practically above 90." Daron's face fell, but the enthusiasm soon came back when Daron returned his attention to the Skills List. While he was distracted, Koschei went back to cutting trees.

Eventually, Daron, who had been browsing through all the skills he might one day master, said to Koschei, "Does this mean I can get a house? It says here, something about being able to get a house! I'd love be able to have my own house, I've always lived in ..." Daron trailed off, and decided not to end that sentence, which would have reminded himself how he'd spent so many years of his life living in Katra's house.

"Ah, the Construction skill." Koschei paused. "That's a _very_ expensive skill, Daron. You're familiar with currency, I take it?" Daron nodded. "Well, to reserve some land to build your house, you need 1k. To build rooms, you need 1k, then 5k, then 10k, going even past 50k. Some trees cost 10k. The planks involved can cost from 250gp to 1.5k each. So, really, you need good skills in other things before you can make a house."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Oh well."

"Listen, Daron, enough talk about life on Gielinor ... I know nothing 'bout you other than your name," said Koschei.

"I could say the same thing about you, Koschei."

"Point taken. But, really, what brought you to Kalan? Yañé's on the other side of Azñaon, there're nearer villages that'd be able to accomodate you." Daron launched into explanation about the Dragon in Yañé, and how the mysterious man, Ulrich, had saved him, and, after letting him pay his last respects to what was left of Katra, how he had taken him over to Kalan, and then disappeared. Koschei listened closely as Daron told him his story, and did not speak until Daron was finished.

He nodded, with genuine interest, as Daron stopped talking. "But, what the hell did he expect you to do with yourself, now?" He said. Daron shrugged.

"The man was kind enough to drop me off here and leave without any suggestions as to that," said Daron, calmly. Koschei put his axe gently away in his bag, and walked over to Daron.

"C'mon, come with me, Daron." Daron followed him, out of the woodcutting enclosure, and back into the boring streets. He turned down a different path, and crossed many winding lanes, until the buildings stood behind them. Daron did not ask where they were going. Instead, he followed Koschei, as they walked down to a pier. It was not in Kalan, but next to it, and Daron wondered what it was doing here. Next to the pier, was a shabby old pub, with a plaque at the top, that read, "Sailor's Respite."

"Let's go get a drink, kid. Koschei pushed open the door, and had to drop his head to step inside. Pulling Daron with him, he walked up to the bar, and rested his hands on the counter. Behind it was a tall, middle-aged man, balding, with a black beard, and thick eyebrows. His face was ruddy, a disgruntled look about him, and his pot-belly made it difficult for him to move around, as he cleaned beer glasses with a dirty, ragged cloth, that looked as if it had been pulled out of a marsh. As Daron approached, the bartender eyed him suspiciously, before Koschei said to him,

"S'okay, Rat, he's safe." The bartender, who Daron thought Koschei had called Rat, nodded curtly, as Koschei sat down, and beckoned Daron to follow suit. "This is Daron, Rat, he comes from Yañé." Rat nodded again, and gave a grunt, before asking Koschei in a deep rough voice what he wanted to order.

"Two Dragon Bitters." Another grunt came from Rat, who went over to get a beer glass, and filled it up. "Now, Daron, we need to talk," said Koschei in a low voice, so only Daron could hear him. Daron nodded.

"What is it?" He said.

"The pier outside goes to Kandarin. I think it's time that your life begins."


	3. Chapter 3 The Way to the Way

**Daron's Quest  
****Chapter 3: The way to the way**

Daron had not even raised the beer glass to his lips when he put it down, gently, upon the table surface, and looked at Koschei.

"Kandarin?" Daron repeated. Koschei nodded slowly. Then he leaned forward.

"Daron, have you ever had a dream? Have you ever wondered what's out there?" Daron looked curiously at Koschei. "Have you ever thought that you can do more with yourself, that you can be the ultimate warrior? That you can ... master the sword and shield ... that you can ... hone your abilities to perfection," Koschei continued theatrically, choosing his words carefully.

"I've never had any abilities of any sort," said Daron, calmly. Koschei smiled.

"You can't live the life of somebody else's forever. Y'know, I'd be right in saying that you've lived in the house of a close friend, or family, wouldn't I?" Koschei noticed Daron, quite motionless, except for his hands, tightening into a fist. Daron nodded without any expression on his face. "Some day, you've gotta learn how to live on your own, how to cook, how to keep yourself sheltered, how to fight ..." Koschei smiled ... "how to kill ..." Daron's knuckles were turning white, his eyes narrowing. "That's why you've gotta go to Kandarin, Daron. You've gotta go there, and then head to Misthalin, where you can train, you can learn to live the life of your choosing."

"In the end, Daron," he carried on, "You have two paths. You can sail out to Kandarin, train, and kill the Dragon, or return to your village empty-handed, and have the memory of your wife fade away ... into ashes ..."

He had touched a nerve.

"You think a low-life like me can kill a Dragon?!" Daron shouted at the top of his voice, standing up so suddenly he knocked over his chair, and the beer glass fell to the floor, shattering into tiny pieces. Everybody in the Sailor's Respite had fallen silent, staring at Daron. "You think it's all so easy, just send me over to Kandarin, and I'll turn into some 'level 138' over-night?! I'm no Dragon Slayer, I'm just some Azñanan whose life is worthless! Daron ran out of the bar, flinging the doors open, and pelted as far as his legs would carry him. To where, he didn't know. He ran away from the pier, away from Kalan, into a field where, not far ahead was a forest. The trees of the forest welcomed him bracingly, and darkness began to loom across his surroundings. The trees acted as a canopy, blocking all sunlight, not even allowing a few slits to penetrate the thick wildlife. He didn't know what he was doing, where he was going, all he knew was to keep running. He didn't even look behind him for a sign of Koschei, or anybody. Dodging the trees, and bushes, he kept going for about five minutes, before he started to feel exhausted. He couldn't carry on much longer, his throat was sore, his face full of sweat, and his legs, tired. Slowing down, he reached a clearing in the forest, where the trees shrank away, and an open, dusty circle, appeared. A few fallen logs littered the clearing, Daron walked over to one, and sat down on it.

He breathed. Thinking. Considering. What on Gielinor had he done? Whichever way he looked at it, he was lost in this dense maze, that might have carried on for minutes, or miles. Kalan, or any form of civilisation, were now too far away to try and reach. He shouldn't have done it. He shouldn't have ran out, he should've, just ... stayed. Regret surged through him, regret, and pity, all too familiar now, engulfed him. But, honestly, what could he do, now? He could try and find his way back to Kalan, back to the pier, where Koschei might still be there, a little confused, or maybe angry. Well, he would definitely be angry, Daron decided. Still, anybody was better than nobody. Daron wanted more than anything just to sit upon a comfortable armchair, by the fireside, with a cup of coffee beside him. He wanted just to be in the presence of another, anybody, it did not matter who, just so long as he wasn't alone. He looked down at the ground, his arms upon his knees, looking at the tiny, insignificant insects, wandering around, living a perfectly normal life. Burrowing in and out of the ground, finding food to eat, exploring the large realm of which they resided in. He had no shadow, there was no light to cast one, only the dim, green, illumination that came from the shaded canopy of leaves above, which was the light trying feebly to pass through. His surroundings were mostly silent, except for a few leaves rustling, a few trees waving about in the dull breeze. A few more leaves cracked and crunched, somewhere behind him.

Hang on a minute, that wasn't right. The leaves weren't suppose to crunch under nothing more than a breeze that could barely blow a feather around. Daron straightened up, and was about to turn around, when he found a hand resting on his shoulder. Daron jumped up to his feet, and backed away, turning to face whoever it was.

It was Ulrich. The smart, shady features upon his face, his dark hair, and his stubbled chin. The Dragon armour covered his entire body, except his hands, which bore the sword and shield. Ulrich smiled at Daron, and slid away his sword and shield, as he stepped towards him.

"How nice to see you again, Daron." Daron did not return the smile. Instead, he walked towards Ulrich, likewise. Walking more quickly with every step, eventually, Daron broke into a run. As he approached Ulrich, he dived at his stomach, knocking him to the ground, taking Ulrich completely by surprise.

"Who the hell are you?!" Daron yelled in Ulrich's face. "How did you know I was here, how did you know all about Katra, why did you bring me to Kalan and then abandon me?!" Ulrich, who had recovered from the shock of being bowled over as opposed to a warm welcome, held Daron's arm away from him, which was poised in the air, about to punch Ulrich in the face, if Ulrich hadn't stopped him. As Daron raised his other arm to try and punch him, he lifted his own hand, which was still gloved. Within a flash of movement, Daron was lifted off his feet, and flung into the air, landing with a thud onto the ground, as Ulrich got to his feet, brushing the dust from his armour, as he walked over to Daron, who was groaning, painfully, trying to get up. Ulrich helped him up.

"Relax, Daron. Seriously, calm down. I'll explain everything to you, one day. I promise. But right now, all that's important is that you go to Kandarin." Daron did not speak. Instead, he gazed at Ulrich, waiting for him to say more.

"After passing Azñaon, the Dark Dragon passed over a few larger islands, before returning to an area of the Wilderness, above Misthalin." Ulrich pulled out a scrunched up map from his inventory, unrolling it, and showing it to Daron. "About here ..." he said, pointing to an area marked by a red exclamation mark. "That little symbol means that somewhere around there sits atop an underground area. A cavern, perhaps? Or else a lair ..." said Ulrich, grinning, as if this was some exciting tale that he was reading to Daron.

"Why does it have to be me, Ulrich? Why can't you or ... or somebody else -" (he thought of Koschei) "- kill the Dragon?" Daron argued. He was not quite sure if he was saying the right thing. Doubt, was trying to consume him, but he was not sure if he wanted to let it. He felt as if his confidence was merely lacking. He remembered when he had first met Koschei, and Koschei had taught him to cut down a tree. The memory pulsed through him, and he remembered, vividly, what had happened.

_Daron held the axe. he gripped it tightly. He thought of Katra, again, and the Dragon that had slayed her. He would slay that Dragon. He would get revenge, some day. He would kill it himself. One day, he would go to Misthalin, in search of the Dragon, he knew they mostly lived above Misthalin. Everything seemed to go in slow motion. The man's shouts of encouragement were drowned away, as Daron could hear only his own heartbeat. He looked down at the axe._

He, would slay the Dark Dragon.

He had told himself, back in the enclosure - and he had meant it - that he would return to Yañe with the head of the Dark Dragon. He had swore to himself that the path ahead of him was towards Misthalin. Maybe Ulrich was right. Ulrich, as if sensing that Daron was in deep thought, had not said anything. But, he was now walking towards Daron. He held Daron by the shoulder, and gently steered him over to a log, where they sat down. Ulrich looked down at the ground, and then at Daron. He spoke, at last.

"Do you know, about the greatest power of the Dark Dragon, Daron? Not the paralysing roar, but how it loses it's life. A Dark Dragon is immortal. It can't reproduce, but it can never die a natural death, of age, disease, or poison. Infact, if just anyone were to successfully stab it in the heart, it wouldn't die. At the birth of time, when Zamorak brought chaos onto Gielinor, 100 Dark Dragons spawned. But, through the millions of years, they died out, slowly, one by one. Only two remain, one resides outside of Gielinor, in a far land, the other is unfortunate enough to live within the heart of Gielinor."

Daron turned to face Ulrich.  
"But, if they can't die, at all, how did the die out?" Daron asked Ulrich, now hanging on his every word.

"Because, a few sages, existing around the time when humans first spawned, discovered the one way to rid a Dark Dragon, permanently. We know today of this from the writings they left behind, preserved in stone, and from it, our civilisation sought to banish the Dark Dragons from the world. And, we didn't do badly, we nearly succeeded. But, do you know _how_ the Dark Dragon is killed?" Ulrich prompted. Daron shook his head. "This is the message the ancient sages left for us:"

"The Dragon of Darkness, it's life must end,

By the hand of whom has lost a dear friend," Ulrich recited. "It means that the Dragon can only be killed by somebody who lost somebody very important to them at the hand of the Dragon. Do you see why you're the one that has to do this? Do you see why you must kill the Dragon? That's why you've got to go to _Kandarin_ first, to train, to gain knowledge in the art of swordlore. It's your destiny, Daron. What you were born to do. All you need is hope." As Ulrich said this, Daron remembered, as his stomach turned, what Katra had said to him just before the Dark Dragon had invaded Yañe. The memory burned bright in head, a beacon of light that shone upon everything around it. It was bursting to escape his lips, and, choosing his words carefully, he spoke to Ulrich.

"Just before ... the invasion ... I was with Katra, in a restaurant," Daron began, immersed in thought. "And, she said something to me, something that she thought meant something to me at the time, but, it does now. It means the world to me." Ulrich was listening intently, waiting for him to continue. When he did not, Ulrich prompted "What did she say to you?" Daron was gazing absent-mindedly into the air, his expression did not change, nor did his eyes wander, as he spoke.

"Hope is the essence of life, without it, all will be lost. Remember those words, treasure them, some day, you'll find out what hope can do for you." Ulrich was not sure how to react. His handsome features were a mixture of approval, and curiosity.

"Your wife was very wise, then," he said, at last. Daron nodded, slowly.

"But, if I go to Kandarin, what can I possibly do from there?" He said, suddenly. Ulrich smiled.

"You'll figure it out when you get there," he answered, giving Daron a cryptic look. This was slightly irritated, but Daron ignored it.

"So ... _how_ do I get there?"

"Well, Koschei will still be at the Sailor's Respite. He'll be able to find you a lad who'll take you there." This was not the first time Ulrich had known something that he couldn't have possibly found out. Daron remembered how he had known Katra's name mere moments after her death. At the time, he had thought that Ulrich knew her from around, but, Ulrich always seemed to be letting onto more than he should know. It almost seemed deliberate, as if he wanted Daron to work out something. As if he could sense people's emotions, people's thoughts ... hang on, Daron thought. Hang on, one second.

"You can read minds, can't you, Ulrich?" Daron did not say this aloud. He thought it, in his head. If it had been anybody else, no reaction would have come from the person opposite Daron. But, Daron's lips curled into a smile, as Ulrich, slowly, nodded his head. "You've been reading my mind, all this time, it's how you knew about Katra, and about who I was, and Koschei, all that ..." again, Daron's mouth spoke no words, he thought it, instead.

"Very good, Daron," said Ulrich, approvingly. This was aloud. Things were starting to make sense now, thought Daron. Everything had started to become clear. Well, actually, very little had become clear, but enough for Daron.

"Okay," he thought, "Okay, then. I'm ready, Ulrich. I don't want to have to say this aloud ..." he paused. "Take me to the Sailor's Respite," he thought. Ulrich stood up, and turned to face Daron.  
"Are you sure?" Ulrich asked him. Closing his eyes, Daron nodded, saying nothing.  
"Yes. I want to kill the Dragon," said Daron aloud.

"Okay." Placing his gloved hands upon Daron's shoulders, he closed his eyes, and the forest started to disappear, as the shabby pub faded into view. Daron turned around to thank Ulrich, but, once more, there was no Ulrich there to thank.  
"Oh well," said Daron, to himself. "Hope Koschei isn't too mad." Gritting his teeth, he walked into the Sailor's Respite.

He wasn't there. As Daron swung the doors open, he saw almost nobody within the bar, apart from the bartender, and a tramp, sitting on a chair with his hand loosely holding a half-empty beer glass. His dirty, ragged clothes were in patches, upon his face he had a grey beard, and brown eyes, that stared miserably at his drink. He was half-slumped across the table, Daron wondered why he was even here. It seemed that he had somehow managed to get a hold of enough gold to buy a beer. The bartender, Rat, recognised him, and wore a cold, unwelcoming expression, as he stood by the doorway.

"O'ight, you gonna stand 'ere f'rever, fella?" The bartender had not spoken. The voice instead came from the tramp, who had looked up to register the new arrival. Daron soon realized that he had been standing there for a good five minutes, wondering where Koschei was. Accepting the invitation, Daron walked over to the table the tramp was sitting on, and drew up a chair. He had not had a chance to speak before the bartender, Rat, said in a gruff voice, "This ain't a night-club, newspawn, you can buy something or get the hell out." Daron did not need to fish around in his pockets, he knew that he had no money. With a sigh, Daron began to get out of his chair, but the tramp then said: "Here, I gots some spare change, lemme buy ye a drink." The bartender looked disapproving. "Beer please," said the tramp. The bartender pulled out a beer glass, and filled it up with some beer, placing it on the counter. The tramp pulled out the contents of his pocket, which was nothing more than a rotten tomato, and two very sorry looking gold coins. Daron took them, gingerly, and walked over to the counter, where he put them down, and took the beer over the table.

"Thanks," said Daron gratefully, as he raised the glass to his lips and tasted the sweet beer. The tramp nodded his head. "I'm Daron, by the way. 9Daron99."

"I'm Opt0p0s. Opt fer short, ta," said the tramp. "So, what ye here fer?" Daron gave a humourless smile.

"I'm here to find a sailor who's willing to take me to Kandarin." Opt sat up, listening intently.

"Kand'rin? Woya wanna go there fer?"

"To kill the Dragon that killed my wife," Daron replied, calmly. Opt's eyes widened.

"Zaros, that's some story, and I only 'eard the first sen'ence! Ye think yer up teh killin a drag'n?"

"I'm heading to Kandarin to learn the art of the sword, and to learn how to kill it."

"Well, s'only one way teh Kand'rin, n' that's from 'ere. S'why this place's named the Sailor's Respite. Next ship sails tomurrah, sailor by name of Rane."

"How do you know all this?" Daron asked Opt, puzzled.

"Cos I tried gitt'n to Kand'rin once, Rane that git wouldn' lemme go. Trips cost 1k, and I ain't gots 'at kinda money. Walked away I dids, lousy bastard wanted nutin else but his dirty money." Daron took another sip of the beer, Opt drained his glass empty, and sat it down on the table. "Can't get enough o' that, pity I gots no more cash. Found 'ese four coins on the floor earl'yer, most money I hads since two months ago."

"What happened?" Daron inquired.

"Used to be real rich, I dids. Di'nt do no work, just lived off me gramp's fortune, half o' which was in me posession. Then an imp, shrimpy little bastard, stole all the cash n' made off wi' it. I been broke ever since. Can't even afford no good clothes," he muttered, gesturing at his attire miserably.

"I haven't got any money either, no money at all. Infact, I never have, not even a fortune. Believe me, you're not worse off than I am. I used to live with my wife, she used to do everything for me, she was the love of my life, but then she was taken away from me, when that Dragon invaded Azñaon. Do you wanna know how long ago that was?" Opt nodded for Daron to continue. "It happened today!" said Daron, his voice had cracked, and a tear ran from his eye. "I got up, went to a restaurant with my wife, and there the Dragon was! We ran, and we ran, until the Dragon killed her! A man called Ulrich saved me from the Dragon, and took me to Kalan, and here I am!" Opt looked sorrowful.

"What you gonna do now?" He asked.

"The only thing I can do, try and persuade this Rane guy to take me to Kandarin. I don't care if he says no, I'll ... I'll make money, I'll make 1k so I can go to Kandarin ..." Daron trailed off.

"How?"

"I don't know, anything could happen, I could find somebody to work for in Kalan and make a bit of spare money!" Eyes brightening, as if another idea had struck, he turned around to Rat.

"Hey, I could work for you! Would you be willing to pay me a bit of money if I ... oh, I dunno, if I cleaned up the place, a bit, or ... helped serve drinks?" Daron said to the bartender. Rat shook his head, emotionless. "But, is there not anything I can do for you?" Said Daron, desperately. Rat considered.

"You could try getting out of here, now, that'd earn you at least a little bit of no money," he replied, coldly. Opt gave a cheeky smile, but then stopped when he saw the look Daron gave him back.

"There's always stealin' ..." said Opt, shrewdly, in a low voice so only Daron could hear. Before Daron could respond, Opt continued, "Some townsfolk've got plenty o' money for grabs. If ye just manage to get yer 'ands on summat, that is." Straightening up, Opt got out of his chair, and invited Daron to do likewise. Opt walked out of the bar, calling "C'mon, we's going teh Kalan!" Daron followed, as Rat bid them farewell with a "We're already in Kalan, you twit." Opt did not stay behind to correct himself, instead, he stumbled outside, and lost his footing, falling face-first onto the concrete pathway. Getting up, a little battered, he brushed himself down, and walked along the docks, following the pathway to the main village. The walk took less time this time, and it felt like less than a minute before they were there. Opt looked around the boring, blend-in streets, what Daron was looking for, he was not sure. But then, spotting something, he tapped Daron on the shoulder, and pointed out a smartly dressed businessman, leaning over to examine a fruit stall.

"What?" Daron whispered.

"We've found a target, 'ere, watch n' learn ..." Opt walked casually over to the fruit stall, remaining un-noticed by the man, despite his terrible state. Walking up and down, he passed the businessman twice, before, stopping half-way, he precariously leaned over, as if looking over the man's shoulder. With a swift movement, he had withdrawn 100gp from the man's pocket without his noticing, and had walked back over to Daron. Placing the money in Daron's hand, he said, "I migh' know squat 'bout anythin' else, bu' I's a good thief, I is. C'mon, you try. Look, look, perfect victim, righ' over there!" Opt pointed out a woman, strolling absent-mindedly across the cobbled street, with an elegant, blue lace hat, a prim, blue dress, rounded at the bottom, and carrying a ham-bag on one arm. Opt grinned wickedly, and ushered Daron towards her.

"No, no, I can't steal from a lady!" He said.

"Aw, c'mon, just do it! You know you need the cash!" Daron grimaced.

"But, stealing's not right ..."

"Ye bet it's righ'. Look, you gotta skill list, yeah?" Daron nodded, pulling out a crumpled skill list, which blemished into colour as he held it, and showed all the various skills. Opt was leaning over his shoulder. He pointed out one particular skill. "See 'at skill wi' the black mask? 'Ats the thievin' skill, ye get xp for pickpock't'ing. C'mon, go over n' try teh steal 'er hambag!" Daron gulped, and then stepped forward.

He crept slowly towards the woman, who did not see Daron approach. Daron came up from behind, and waited until the woman stopped. He had to try and get her hambag. But ... how? What could he do? It would be obvious if he just removed it from her arm. He looked towards Opt for guidance. Opt, grinning, pulled out a coin he had kept from the man he had stolen from earlier. He held it up in the air, and dropped it on the floor. Acting as if surprised, he leaned over, and pretended to start fumbling about for the coin he had dropped. Straightening up, he gave Daron the thumbs up. Daron understood. He too took a coin from the money Opt had given him, and dropped it on the floor. The woman paused, and leaned over, thinking that she had dropped the coin. It was working exactly as it should've. As she searched for the missing coin, Daron carefully leaned closer, and lifted her ham-bag off of her arm. Tucking it away into his inventory, he quickly walked away, towards Opt. Opt grinned at him, and patted him on the back, but Daron took Opt and walked out of the plaza.

"Close thing," breathed Daron. "I don't really wanna do that again." Opt raised an eyebrow.

"There're capes o' achie'ment for stealing, y'know. It ain't all that bad. 'Ere, let's see what 'at lass was carrying on 'er." Opt swiped the hambag from Daron before he could protest, and started rifling through it. "Diary ... farmin' tools ... seeds ... aha, purse!" Opt pulled out an embroidered purse, and threw it over to Daron, while Opt kept the ham-bag. Daron unzipped the purse.

"Tell you what, Opt, you keep that 100gp you stole ..." Daron muttered.

"Eh?"

"This woman's rich! Look, she's got 500k in here, that's more money than I've ever seen in my life!" Opt dropped the hambag to the floor. "We're keeping this!" Daron enthused, Opt chuckled, and nodded his head.

"Bloody right we are, but I'm 'avin' some."

"Splits?"

"Got it."

"50-50?"

"More like 250-250."

"250-250 it is," concluded Daron, sharing out the stolen money. Opt could hardly believe it. Neither could Daron, to be honest. According to Opt, this was legal. He had 250,000 coins in his hands, and so did Opt. They could not believe their luck.

"C'mon, I'm going to Kandarin," said Daron. "It's been the longest day of my life, and as the dusk falls, my adventure begins."

Opt grinned. "You? You alone? And who's teh say I ain't comin' with yeh?" Daron looked at Opt, curiously. "C'mon, Daron. Yeh'll need somebody with ye when yer preparing yerself to fight a _Dragon_. Who's teh say I've no right teh go?"

"Er ..."

"None o' that, I'm comin' wi' yeh, and 'ats final." The decision seemed to be made for Daron, who nodded, excitement slowly amounting.

"The time's come," Daron said, looking out over the sky that approached twilight. Opt listened, closely, waiting for Daron to speak the only words that could follow.

"**It's the time we go to Kandarin."**


	4. Chapter 4 Voyage

**Daron's Quest**  
**Chapter 4: Voyage**

Daron leaned upon the rails, staring out at the sparkling blue sea beyond him, illuminated by the twilight of the rising sun. The soft breeze tickled his face, and swept us his hair, as Daron rubbed his eyes, and stretched his arms, yawning. He was on _The Egayov_, the ship belonging to Rane, and had just woken up that morning, wanting to step out of the cabin and take in the morning air. Opt was still fast asleep in the cabin below, while Rane himself was working out their position with his sextant, and steering the wheel to due course. Daron had not had a good sleep, that night. The memory of Katra pervaded his dreams, and then Ulrich, like a stray animal that had wandered into his thoughts. It was yesterday that Daron and Opt had come to Rane, below the Sailor's Respite, and set sail for Kandarin. Daron knew that it was his destiny, to reach the mainland and find the Dragon, whatever it took. Opt could not come all the way, Daron knew this much, but he had made a promise to Opt that he would take him to Kandarin with him, and he had to keep to it.

"Brilliant sky, this morning, eh?" Daron said to Rane, loudly, so that he could hear him on the other side of the ship. Rane glanced round, noticing Daron for the first time. He gave a small shake of his head.

"I suppose you've never heard anybody saying 'Red sky in the morning, Sailor's warning, red sky in the night, Sailor's delight'?" He shouted back.

"How could anything as beautiful as this be an omen?" Rane turned round, and started, as he saw what lay ahead of him. Small ice floes, bobbed in the water. Rane grabbed the wheel and spun it as far to the right as it could go, bowling Daron over as the ship made a turn that it wasn't designed for. Steering frantically to avoid colliding with one of the Ice floes, Rane then turned the wheel - a bit more gently - to the right, and ended up facing the way they came from. Sailing the ship ahead, he then made a U-bend to his left, facing back the same way again, but slightly east of the patch of ice floes.

"As thus?" supplied Rane, breathing heavily. The cabin door swung open, and Opt stumbled out, tripping on a loose plank and falling to the floor. Pulling himself up again, he exclaimed,

"What the hell just happened?"

"Ice floes," Rane explained, not turning round, this time keeping his full attention on the sea. Calming down slightly, Opt then approached Daron, who had returned to his post by the rails again, now that the ship had stopped rocking violently from side to side. Slight disaster having passed, Daron was now silent, and calm, resuming his examination of the sea around them.

Opt said nothing, infact, none of them did, for a while, before Rane finally struck up a conversation.  
"So, let me get this right, it's Opt0p0s, from Kalan, and 9Daron99 from Yañe?" Rane made a futile attempt to pronounce Yañe. Opt nodded, but Daron did not look up.  
"Pronounced Yan-yay," he corrected.  
"Wouldn't the world be a better place if our forefathers had just chosen simpler names? I can never get those funny letters right," Rane wondered aloud.

From what Opt had told Daron at first about Rane, Opt had put Rane in bad light, likely because of the fact that Rane had refused to let him sail without the money, but Rane could actually be very friendly sometimes, trying to get to know Daron and Opt more throughout the day they had been on _The Egayov _so far. Rane was a tall sailor, with thick, broad muscles and heavy shoulders. His shirt a short-sleeved plain white one, and his trousers a sea blue, with the scarf around his neck, and the sailor's hat atop his head, he really did look like any other sailor. The dimly lit features upon his profile were hard, and stony, looking almost as if it had been carved from rock, and his eyes were a steely blue. But other than that, he looked quite friendly.

An hour passed, where Daron and Opt merely talked to one another, trying to find a topic of conversation that they had not already covered. And a long time after that, Daron eventually went down to the hold, where he had slept last night, and sat down on the rough mattress. From his inventory, he fumbled around for a map of Gielinor. Eventually, he found it. It was an aged scrap of parchment, with intricately cartographed colour drawings of the area surrounding them for a 3-mile radius. All the landmarks were labelled, and, right now, it placed a yellow dot where Daron was standing, in the middle of the sea, half the way between Azñaon and Kandarin. As they moved ever so slightly, the map moved with them, the magic on the parchment tracing his exact location, wherever he was. So, they were still making slow progress, Daron brooded.

He felt excitement, at the prospect of finally reaching Gielinor beyond Azñaon. But he also felt the nerves kicking in, and that was what held a greater power over him. What if he wasn't good enough to learn to fight? What if he was never going to make it? What if he died? Of course, it was safe once they reached Kandarin, Daron knew that the greater lands of Gielinor would protect them. But to lose his life in battle, he would fall deep below the realms of existence, and come within moments of reaching Katra beyond, only to be dragged away from it all, and dropped back into life. He wasn't sure he could face dying, even if it wouldn't finish him off completely.

Soon enough, he realized what was going through his head. He had no confidence in himself. He didn't have the courage to fight a Dragon. But, if he didn't kill it, who would? The bigger places would be safe, but Azñaon and all the other small islands would be at risk. And it wasn't just the small islands. From his vague knowledge of Gielinor, there was an island called Crandor that wasn't protected from permanent death. And he was sure that there had to be others.

A day passed.

The afternoon of whatever day it happened to be was bleak. Daron had expected the sun to shine, to beam down at him making his voyage on _The Egayov_, heading towards his destiny, to learn the ways of the greater world, to learn to fight the Dragon. But it merely hid away behind ominous grey clouds that warned of rain to come. The sky would have felt as silver as it was if the bleak atmosphere hadn't dulled it to the boring grey you got on chilly autumn days.

Rane said little, occasionally greeting Daron and Opt when they passed, which was often, as the ship was small and there was little to do. Many times Daron got out his map, studying their progress along the sea, monitoring how close they were to Kandarin. It was late that evening that Opt asked the question that Daron had not been sure of until Ulrich had showed him the answer.

"Why exactly ye' goin' teh Kand'rin n' not Misth'lin, eh?" He said, sitting on the lone mattress that was his bed, down in the holds. Daron, who was sitting on the bed idly tying his shoelaces - that were already tied up so tight he wouldn't be able to remove them for a good while to come - had his answer ready.

"Because," he began patiently, "Kandarin is the heart of Gielinor -"

"Misth'lin's the 'eart of Gielinor," Opt corrected.

"Let me finish: it's the heart of Gielinor for the experienced, the place where the best reign, and are reigned under. It's the perfect place for me to start learning before I go to Misthalin."

"And why ain't there anyone in Misth'lin who'll train yeh?"

"I've just said, Kandarin will provide those who know Gielinor better. Sure, there are a few experts in Misthalin, but Kandarin is the place of the elites."

"And what 'bout Asgarnia? I though' they's had Knights?" Daron nodded.

"Again, expert, but not elite."

Daron resumed his fruitless attempts to untie his shoelaces, considering the conversation to be over, Opt, sensing this, said no more.

Another day passed.

Daron did not need to study his map, Rane told them in the morning that they were close already, an hour away from reaching land. Daron continued to stare out at the sea, only this time, at the bow of the boat, squinting in the direction they were heading to try and spot Kandarin. Opt was pacing up and down the ship, clearly edgy. For what, Daron had no idea, but his eyes wide open in thought, his hands behind his back, every now and then biting his nails in nervousness. It was only in half an hour that it began to concern Daron, who was spending less time looking at the land-mass slowly growing bigger ahead, and more time studying Opt. He had not ceased his pacing, and was still as edgy as half an hour ago. Eventually, Daron thought it would be prudent to ask him what was wrong.

"Penny for your thoughts?" He asked.

"Cheapskate." Opt grunted, without looking at him.

"1k for your thoughts?" Daron suggested, smiling.

"250k's enough, thanks," was his hollow reply.

Daron stepped in front of him, forcing Opt to stop and look him on the face.

"What's troubling you?" Daron gave him a look of concern which he did not miss. Opt sighed in resignation.

"I s'pose ye think I'm 'ere teh tag along feh the ride, eh?"

"Well, yeah. I guess I'm now meant to assume otherwise?" Daron queried. Opt nodded.

"Yeh don't know me as good as ye think ye do, Daron, lemme tell yeh a bit 'bout me life." Daron said nothing, but listened intently, waiting for Opt to continue.

"I wa'nt quite tellin' the truth 'bout an imp stealin' me gramp's fortune. Though' yeh should'a realized imps only go fer items. Funny them idiots, they won' take no money, jus' items. When I was a young'un - and lookin' a hell of alot better than I do now - I met a lass in a ... rest'rant -"

"In a bar," Daron saw through the lie.

"Ye' okay, fine, but lot'sa folks drink young round me old parts. Anyway, this girl, sweet little thing, I fell in love with 'er, straight away. Turned out she liked me, alot, too. Well, I though' as much, 'least. We wen' out, fer a while, an' eventually, she told me the truth. Wish I never 'eard 'er say it. She only loved me, 'cos I had money, lot's of it, didn' love _me_ 'tall." Daron was saddened to see his woeful expression. "The unlucky bitch chose to tell me while I was drunk," he grumbled.

"I'd no idea that I could get so violent. I got angry with 'er, took a knife, and tried to stab 'er. Scared straight, she ran out, and told me she was gunna move far away, to Kand'rin. I nev'r saw 'er again. Regretted it loads. She'll have that scar on 'er arm fer life." Daron understood why he was going to Kandarin.

"She was scared, but still want'd revenge. So she stole me bloody fortune. Took it and fled."

Daron knew how he felt now, knew the real reason that he was going to Kandarin with Daron, it was not a quest for adventure, like Daron, but,

"You want to find her again," he said softly. "You want to tell her you're sorry for what you did," he realized. Opt nodded, a tear fell from his eye, coming to rest on his stubbled chin. He was shaking, and not from the cold. Daron put an arm around him, and led him to the bow, where Rane, who had been tactful enough to pretend he had not heard the conversation, was still standing at the steering wheel.

Daron turned around to face him, and then saw the smile on his face. He followed the sailor's line of sight, and found where it had landed. He raised his eyebrows in disbelief, his mouth wide open. The infectious grin had caught on, and now Daron was smiling at the sight ahead.

Kandarin was already straight up ahead, looming in on them. They were about five minutes away from Kandarin. How had the time passed so quickly? Rane smiled at Daron, who surveyed the Kandarinian port ahead, as gloomy as the port of the Sailor's Respite. But what lay behind was something more.

It was a small port town, and Daron didn't know how - taking in the dirty streets and shacks made of rotten wood - but the place held an air of grandeur that only it alone could posess. It was like a warm welcome from Kandarin. A few odd people roamed about the streets beyond the port itself, it was nothing like Kalan, where the residents were taciturn, and barely tangible, almost like ghosts the did not belong there. The people here held a certain magnificence, no matter how grubby or forlorn they looked. They didn't strut, but they still told their tale in the way they walked, they were Kandarinians, and proud of it. There was something strange about them, but Daron could not quite place it.

"I'll never forgive myself for not coming here earlier." Daron thought aloud. Opt nodded silently. He was not smiling, but staring ahead at the port drawing nearer and nearer. Daron sensed the rising dread inside Opt, at what was to come. But it did not cloud his thoughts. He was excited.

In about a minute, they had reached main land, and finally began to dock at the port. As Rane stepped down onto the swaying pontoon, a rope in hand, to secure the boat, he then clambered back up, where Daron and Opt stood, waiting.

"Well, both, it's been a good journey. But here we part," announced Rane. "I wish you good luck on your quest," he added, addressing Daron, and bowing to both of them in turn. Daron bowed his head in reply, and then said, "Farewell." Opt shook Rane's hand.

"Gonna head back to Azñaon?" Opt asked Rane. Rane shook his head.

"I have business here, in Kandarin, that needs taking care of. And then I'll likely sail across home, I've had a long month."

"Okay, so I guess we won't be saying farewell that soon then?" Said Daron, curious as to why Rane had mentioned that they would be separating if they were both heading the same way.

"No, we will, actually. I'll be staying around the area. You won't." As he said this, he stepped off the ship, Daron and Opt, evidently puzzled, followed in his wake.

"Beg yer pard'n?" Opt said.

"And why won't we be staying?" Daron queried, the suspicion in his voice evident.

"The city's being closed," the sailor explained, gesturing to the people milling around Port Khazard. It was only _then_ that he realized what was so strange about the people. They were all filled with a sense of purpose. And they were all heading in the same direction. While some lingered to collect important belongings, the rest were making their way inland, out of Port Khazard. There was not a single person stopping by a market stall, or slumped against one of the shacks talking with their friends. It was an evacuation, and it all became clear to Daron now.

"Why's the city being closed?" He demanded of Rane, whose demeanour had changed all so soon.

"You chose an unfortunate time to visit Port Khazard, because there've been reports locally of attacks from a Misthalinian organisation that have spread their name far and wide all over the mainland, Ghost Knife. They're a large, ruthless band of mercenary killers, and they're no amateurs, their repertoire of abilities stretches far beyond normal magic, melee, and range." Neither Opt or Daron understood these last three terms, but they understood nonetheless why the evacuation was serious.

"When you say 'attacks' -?" Daron began.

"I mean murders, yes," Rane answered, gravely.

"If you knew this already, why take us here in the first place, if not warn us before we came?" Daron interrogated, suspicion rising again.

"Why I took you here in the first place, is because all other ports were currently busy with a trivial shipping crisis, and nobody else can get in, also, while Port Khazard is being evacuated, it temporarily holds teleports to take evacuees out to where they need to be. Why I didn't warn you before you came, is because I really didn't think it would be an issue, all you need do is take a portal out of here. The temporarily Portal Chamber has been set up just east of the general store, and to use any of the teleport portals is free," he explained.

"Alright," Daron conceded, deeming his explanation fair. "So where should we go?"

"I suggest you start your journey at Ardougne. It's further away from Misthalin than from here, but as far as I understand the knowledge you seek, you'll want to go to Ardougne."

"Orright, s'go then," said Opt, preparing to leave for the Portal Chamber inland. Rane gave them a salute, before saying again, "Goodbye."

Daron nodded, but did not say anything, as he and Opt trudged towards Port Khazard, feeling the jetty creak underneath them as they stepped onto land. They made their way towards the centre, and, spotting the general store, headed behind it. The Portal Chamber was not, infact, a Chamber, but an array of portals, about eight in total, encircling a small enclosure just beyond the general store. They were all labelled according to where they teleported to. Daron stepped inside the square, looking for the one labelled Ardougne, while Opt lingered.

"This one," he called to Opt, who came forth to look at the one Daron was pointing at, that did indeed say "Ardougne" beneath it in gold, engraved lettering. Opt noticed the smile spreading across Daron's face as he caressed the intricate woodwork of the portal frame. "Let's go."

Daron was the first to step through the purple, pulsating ring of energy, and disappear out of sight. He did not come out at the other end. Opt followed his lead, and stepped into the portal, feeling as if he had suddenly been violently grabbed, and flung into the air. Flashing, vibrant colours danced around Opt as he seemed to plummet towards the ground, then falling into a sort of funnel. He slid down the funnel, and in the blink of an eye, he was dropped onto the hard gravel of Ardougne Square.


	5. Chapter 5 Remorse and the Loss Of

**Daron's Quest  
Chapter 5: Remorse and the Loss Of**

The last of the people filed out of Port Khazard, all leaving by teleport, as, for some reason, the direct entrance was barricaded. Rane stood upon _The Egayov_, checking his current position with his sextant, when not studying the map of the sea. There was little work to do now. It was only until everybody else left that the work began.

Walking over to the stern, he pressed his palm down upon the floorboards, which held nothing there. What happened next would not have been obvious to passers-by, but as the newly sprung trapdoor materialized onto the stern of _The Egayov_, it would not have mattered. Somebody needed to have seen the before and after to realize that this trapdoor was concealed using advanced magic. Fishing around in his pocket, he withdrew a small object that looked like a key, only instead of a few teeth at the end, there was a smooth hemispherical attachment, with the flat face pointed upwards. It fitted perfectly into a concave slot upon the trapdoor. It was the same as a key, just with a different attachment, and sure enough, it took only a small turn of the key to unlock the trapdoor.

He grabbed at the handle and heaved. It was heavy, indeed, and took an enormous amount of effort to lift. But eventually, it was open. Below was a sort of tunnel. Not the thing one would expect to find underneath a ship, but, granted, _The Egayov_ had had some modifications.

It seemed to stretch down far further than even a terrible judge of distance could decide possible. What's more, the bottom was not visible, and it's depth was unclear. All that stopped whoever was scaling down a tunnel that could stretch metres or miles were rusting metal bars attached to the wall of the tunnel, all fixed at uneven angles, a badly constructed ladder that could break at any time.

Nonetheless, Rane was fearless, he had been down here many times before. Sliding into the tunnel, he grabbed at a rung, and started to scale his way down. A few yards past where - should the tunnel comply with the laws of physics - it would have broken into the ocean, the landing appeared, and Rane jumped down from the ladder, entering the room before him.

It was not as anybody would have expected. A small passageway leading off the shaft ran into a fairly large room, that made it's intentions clear. Reinforced steel walls that bore no decoration held, in brackets, a small armoury of deadly weapons, poisoned daggers, knives, longswords, scimitars, two-handed swords, mage bows, quivers full of poisoned arrows and darts. These were arranged on three of the walls in the room, the fourth was occupied by many rune cabinets, some full of elemental runes, some of combination runes, some with the runes that were left, and some simply containing spell tablets.

In the adjacent chamber, there were five, circular panels fixed to the floor at the back, that was used for containing prisoners, by immobilising them with a powerful form of magic. In the middle of that room were a few chairs, for the interrogators to sit. In every room there was complicated steel machinery, making ominous noises all the time, their functions quite unobvious to outsiders. Rane moved over to a short, squat and bulky control box that held many buttons, levers, and knobs, showing a radar in the middle that deciphered all lifeforms within the area. Three or so people still lingered in the area, making their ways towards the exit portals. Was it worth getting rid of them, to speed things up? One slow loiterer answered that question for him, and he pressed a few buttons, before typing in commands onto a keyboard. The computer next to the radar repeated the commands it was given him, and presented him with a simple interface.

_Continue? Y/N_

Rane pressed Y. He could not see or hear it from there, but the ship itself - using technology concealed within the mast, was sending out a fast, effective, and deadly spell, that affected only humans. As the dark magic spread over the unlucky one that had not yet evacuated via the portals, his painful death began. His lungs collapsed upon themselves, and the air slowly stopped pumping around his body. As his heart beat yet faster and faster to try and circulate the blood flow, the pressure then made his heart explode. As all his other vital organs ruptured, he choked up blood, his eyes wide in horror, as he fell to the floor, making one desperate attempt to cling to life, before his brain exploded, gruesomely decapitating him, and leaving a mangled corpse out on the street of Port Khazard, an innocent victim of a horrible death, for a merciless clan.

Back in the ship, Rane clicked his fingers. Within an instant, the sailor's clothing he wore disappeared and was replaced by the robes marking a member of Ghost Knife. Then, returning to the computer, he typed in another command, and confirmed the instruction to the computer. A signal was immediately sent out, and even as Rane began the climb back up the shaft, his fellows were arriving. When he reached the top, the only changes to Port Khazard were the corpse and the dozen members stood on the pontoon that struggled to bear the weight of so many. All were concealed with robes, and all awaited Rane. As he stepped down from the ship, they then preceded inland. Each giving the corpse a good kick, they all sealed the portals, aswell as the manual entrance. With the city to themselves, they began the meeting.

The sun shone brightly in Ardougne.

Daron and Opt, having toured round the markets and collected some basic supplies, food and water, were both pondering what came next in the adventure. They had to find somewhere to stay, and a place of shelter did not want to present itself. Eventually, though, they discovered the Flying Horse Inn. Ignoring the boring gaze of a strange, black robed, hooded traveller, they walked up to the innkeeper.

"Hi, could you find us somewhere to stay tonight?" Daron asked the man.  
"I could indeed. Provided a certain fee," The innkeeper hinted, gruffly.  
"'Ow much?" Said Opt.  
"1k for the night, 2k for a party of three or more. I assume that doesn't apply?" The man grunted, looking around them hopefully for another possible resident. Daron nodded his head, and the innkeeper gave a look of disappointment. He handed over a key from beneath the desk, and jerked a thumb at the wooden staircase.

"Number 23, 4th door to your right, that's where you'll both be stayin'."  
"Thanks," was Daron's grateful reply. "Oh and, you got anything to drink?" He added, handing over the money.  
"We got Greenman's Ale, Asgarnian Ale and Dragon Bitter. Suit you?"  
"Drag'n Bitter, ta," Opt requested.

"Same for me, thanks," Daron handed over the money for the drinks, and the two proceeded on upstairs. It was not a glorious room, Daron discovered, as he turned the key into the lock of their room, and opened the door, but, as Opt pointed out, it was somewhere to stay. The small, claustrophobic room had two single beds, with thin sheets atop a lumpy mattress, a wardrobe with two or three hangers for clothes, a wash basin that provided toothpaste and two toothbrushes, and a small dresser, that was infact a block of wood serving as a desk, with a mirror perched on top of it.

"Well it's ..." Daron struggled to search for a word that described the cubicle that would house them until tomorrow. 'It's got delusions of adequacy' Daron thought to himself, but did not voice his opinion, lest the Inn had sound monitoring in their rooms.  
"S'pretty damn fantastic?" Was Opt's sarcastic suggestion. Daron smiled, and sipped some of the Dragon Bitter he had nearly forgotten.

"So, I suggest the following:" he announced. "We get settled in, get comfy, go to bed, wake up tomorrow ..." He paused, considered. "Well, we'll get settled in, go to bed, wake up tomorrow -"  
"What happ'ned teh 'get comfy'?" Opt interrupted, and then faltered, as he got the joke.  
"Anyway, tomorrow, I suggest we ask the locals questions concerning training and trainers. This might be all I'm here for, but you could do with tagging along, Opt. After all, you're my friend, and, if I'm totally honest, you're a lazy bastard."  
"Oy!" Opt protested, but he could not resist grinning.  
"Come on!" Daron laughed. "You should come!"  
"Oh yeah, I'd be good on the battleground. 'Oy, Opt, ge' over 'ere and stand still like yeh do best!'"  
"Oh, Zaros, just come, will you? I am, that's the whole reason I'm here!"

Opt sighed.  
"Ah, fine, I'll come, fer Guthix sake." On hearing this, Daron grinned, and slapped Opt on the back.  
"Brilliant." Daron took another sip of the Dragon Bitter. Opt had left his alone.

It was at the sixth hour after noon that the sun started to sink into the sky, casting a beautiful red twilight over East Ardougne.

Daron and Opt, talking animatedly in their room, had already amassed a growing collection of empty beer glasses on the dresser. Daron was amused to find that, despite the many drinks he had had, he did not get drunk easily. He certainly kept his balance better than Opt, who was struggling to stay upright, and struggling to stay on track of the conversation.

"Yeasch, wuschat yeh shaid again?" Opt slurred.  
"I said that the knights around the centre look experienced enough to teach us something or other."  
"How the 'ell che' knnnow 'at 'en?" He gave a hiccough as he stared into the glass of red, frothing liquid he held in his hand. "Che' only been 'air once, an't yeh?"  
"Twice. We visited the centre again ... remember?" He shook his ragged, dirty head. He made a sudden convulsing movement, and Daron, sober enough to recognise what was about to happen, widened his eyes.  
"Aww crap, I fink I'munna be sick," he managed to mumble.

"Oh no, don't you do this to me ..." Too late. Opt leaned over, retching, as he vomited onto the carpet. "Oh, you bastard, when you're sober, you're gonna pay for - whoa-ho!" Daron had to leap out the way as Opt was nearly sick on his shoe. He was slumped down upon the floor. Daron walked over to him, and dragged him up by his armpits, then frogmarched him over to the wash-basin. He turned the tap and thrust his head under the cold water, intending to only drink some water but ending up drenching his entire head. As he leaned up again, he shook his head like a dog, and water splattered everywhere.

"Stay here mate, I'll fetch the Innkeeper." Daron ran out the door, leaving Opt to slide down onto the floor, resting his back against the bed, his head rolling sideways.

The following day, Daron awoke later than he normally would've done, but last night had been an ordeal. The innkeeper had gingerly cleared up the mess, mutually expressed the irritation that the whole business had caused him, and upped the rent because of the previous night. That wasn't so much of a problem, they had money enough to afford it, but it was slightly annoying nonetheless. Daron had mostly blamed Opt because of his reckless drinking, but he had soon quailed, thinking to himself that, although Opt did not know it, he had once been as bad as Opt. At the fifth hour after sunrise, he slowly stirred, and his eyes flickered open. He remained like this in the exact same position, with his eyes open for a long time, until he finally managed to drag himself out of bed. Without glancing at Opt, he moved over to the wardrobe, and took out his clothes.

Stripping off, and then pulling his dressing gown, he decided that he would take a shower first, before stirring Opt, who he knew, simply by ear, was still asleep. Stepping outside, towel and soap in hand, he proceeded to the shower room. He made sure to check that nobody was there before he took off the dressing gown, hanging it up on a rack, and turned on the shower. As the magic forced the water out of the showerhead, he felt properly relaxed. He had not had a shower for a week, now, and as he let the hot water run over his body, he felt much better for it. When he was done, he slipped on the towel, and returned to his room. That was when he saw the bed. It was empty. Opt wasn't even in it in the first place. Dismissing the worrying thoughts, he realized that Opt must be downstairs. Removing the towel and slipping into his day clothes, he decided he would check on Opt first, to make sure he was okay. The innkeeper did not greet him, as he approached the landing.

"Hey, Itain, you seen Opt anywhere?" The Innkeeper shook his head, but said nothing. This surprised Daron. He looked around the bar, trying to pick out the forlorn and stick-out features of Opt. No, he was definitely not here, Itain was right. The concern inside him growing, he ran upstairs, and explored everywhere, the toilets, his room again, the shower room, Opt was nowhere to be found. That was when the real worry kicked in. Where the hell was Opt?!

The clouds began to rumble with thunder, and the light pitter-patter of rain was already becoming faster and heavier.

As the storm descended over Port Khazard, one of the Ghost Knife operatives gave an approving nod. The operative underneath the hood that was Rane leant up from the controls, and nodded back.  
"The storm's about to get pretty strong, it should deter any unwanted visitors. Unfortunately, _The Evayov_ can't summon lightning, only rain and thunder, so we'll have to rely on the atmosphere to adhere to the conditions, and send down a few bolts."  
"And what about if one should come in the direction of the ship?" Someone grunted.  
"Don't worry, there's a heavy magical protection over the ship. It's as good as unsinkable. Alright, then, so let's summon our leader." Nobody could tell, but Rane was grinning underneath the hood.

The others, however, were reluctant.  
"Do you have the authority to summon our leader?" Queried one of them. Rane nodded.  
"But, Rane, we have failed in our previous assignment, he may unleash his wrath upon us." Another nod came from Rane.  
"Yes, he may well do, but we nonetheless await our instructions, and he will give them to us."

Before anybody could say another word, Rane threw his arms into the air. In the blink of an eye, an amazingly bright white flood of energy burst from him, all spiralling upwards. It all happened so fast, that it looked like an explosion. The others were blinded by the white light that came from the summoning spell, they held their hands in front of their faces to protect their eyes, but Rane threw his head up, and shouted to the heavens.

"O, great ruler of the mercenaries that serve under your name, I summon you from the abyss, to rise to the mortal world!" As the powerful magic subsided, more slowly than it had started, Rane let his arms fall, and his head drop. As the white glow around him disappeared, it was instead replaced by a white glowing substance that was blooming into life in the centre of the secret base.

As the light continued to expand, into a shape much larger than any human, it eventually started to form a shape. The shape of a huge being, with muscular, broad shoulders, wide, strong chest and legs the size of a small tree trunk. As the head took shape, the two, horn-like appendages on top became apparent. At last, the creature, which had it's arms flung outwards, and it's head tilted back, like Rane had done to summon it, began to lose the white light that shrouded his features. The rock grey bull's head, with a snout, red eyes, and horns, could be seen, atop a muscular man's torso and legs, that looked as if it had been hewn from rock. It was a minotaur, and it towered over it's disciples intimidatingly. It glared around at them all, with menace, and lust for bloodshed evident in those blood-red eyes.

"Why have you summoned me, Rane?" The minotaur roared. But Rane did not retreat, nor did he succumb to fear.  
"Master, I have summoned you to give you news of a most terrible happening," he informed the minotaur gravely. "The Misthalinian Dark Dragon is under threat. It's hunter is young, inexperienced, and an easy kill, but he seeks knowledge in the art of the sword, Master, and I fear that if he is not ridded of, he may find out how to slay it." The minotaur roared with anger.  
"Yes, this boy must be killed, he must be tortured to within an inch of his life, he will pay for attempting to defy me." The others all nodded their agreement.  
"We have the most brutal methods at hand, O great Master. Who do you wish to send to do the job?" The minotaur considered.  
"I will send you ..." Rane looked hopeful, "Eranar," and his face fell.  
"Why, Master ... I am honoured ..." Eranar began, who was at the opposite end of the room.  
"Capture him, and bring him here. You may finish him off how you wish," the minotaur added. The one named Eranar bowed down low to the minotaur. "Your loyalty to me had better prove itself, lest you find yourself in grave danger." It warned.  
"Master, I can assure you that I will bend this boy to my will and slaughter him," Eranar promised.

"Then your promise is marked by your life, Eranar. Fail me again, and you will be killed." The atmosphere in the room changed. As if a frosty chill was blowing in through the hatch, there was tension between all of them. Rane could almost hear the gears in Eranar's head clicking, making sense of what he had just heard.  
"M-master," his voice cracked. "I shall not fail you, Master," he said, but fear was already etched out across the face behind the hood. The others couldn't see it, but the minotaur could.

"You fear for your own safety, do you not, Eranar? Have you no confidence in your ability to complete this task? Or you fear my wrath." The latter was not a question, it was a statement. The huge creature saw beyond the protective layers of his mind, and saw the fear hidden within one of his loyal subjects. "And I believed you to be loyal?" Nobody came to his aid, they merely waited, to see what would happen to Eranar.

"No, Master, of course I am loyal to you -"  
"And yet you value your life? You are lucky, Eranar, I am not prepared to slaughter today for the feelings unprotected by the subconscious, but your task still stands. Kill the boy, and anybody working with him, or you will be killed." With that, it gave a roar, and disappeared in a raging storm of white light. Without speaking, the group disbanded, climbing up to the top of the ship, and teleporting in turn, to leave Port Khazard. The meeting was over. Soon, only Rane and Eranar remained. Rane gave a nod to Eranar, before conjuring a white flame in his hand. The flame grew, enveloping him, and then, in the blink of an eye, man and fire had disappeared. Eranar made his way out of Port Khazard on foot, changing into normal clothes with a click of his fingers, so he could remain inconspicuous.

The Khazardian rain had carried to Ardougne at last.

But it was not Daron that stood out in the cold, bitter rain, battered by the whipping winds. It was Opt0p0s, wrapped in a thick greatcoat zipped up to his nose, hat leaned over his eyes so that his identity was indiscernable. Not that any onlooker would be able to make out his features through the thick rain, and the fog that amassed around the city square, so that only a few miscellaneous stalls stood out sharp against the white backdrop. An unfinished painting upon a white canvas, with only the foreground visible. The centre of East Ardougne was deserted, not even the market stalls were occupied. Occasionally, Opt was able to pick out the moving of a shadow ahead in the fog, the odd loiterer that still hadn't found cover. The rain hammered down at him from all sides, the thunder rumbling up ahead, but Opt knew no lightning would come. The weather was merely the chameleon that copied the emotions coursing through Opt, the depression, the sadness, the memories, what was to come. But there was no anger, no spite. No lightning brewed inside him. Only the thunder that was the dispirited mournings of his heart. The reluctance to move from this spot, to proceed forth, became plain. But eventually, he realized that he could not stand out here in the miserable storm for much longer. This had to be done now. Daron would of course be wondering where he was, but he couldn't have fathomed an explanation, anyway.

He headed westwards from the centre, trudging along, looking at the numbers on the doors, searching for a specific one. Reaching his hand into his coat pocket, he fished out a piece of parchment, torn from a bigger piece, with thin slanting writing on it. Opt lifted his hat to try and make out the words on the now wet piece of parchment. As water droplets ran down his face, he squinted at it, and managed to decipher the words.

"_34 Recen Lane"_

Stuffing the soaking piece of of parchment into his pocket, he continued forward.  
"28 ... 30 ... 32 ... here it is ..." he whisphered. He stopped outside Number 34, staring at the number on the door like it was cursed. The house was not an aristocratic house like Opt had expected, but it was a respectable home, with white-washed stone on the exterior, and mahogany wood wherever wood was necesary, the only such place being the door. And yet it was almost intimidating. The memories of a horrible past lay ahead of him, all that stood between Opt and reaching these memories again was an elaborate cobbled pathway. Well, he had come this far. He might aswell proceed with the inevitable. He took a few small steps forward, and, before he knew it - or before he wanted it to happen - he was at the front door. Swallowing, he reached up a shaking hand, and tapped the brass knocker.

He waited. The wind howled at him, growing ever more wary of what was to come. Water ran down his face, and soaked his hair as he took his hat off, showing the wild grey hair that ran down to his neck, the brown eyes, and the grey beard that was all needed to expose his age. Unzipping his coat slightly, so his mouth could get out, he suddenly heard movement behind the door, the shuffling of feet across the carpet, somebody reaching to open the door. Then, as the two people who had forgotten each other for years both stood at the doorway, it was the woman inside who was the most shocked.

She had beautiful dark brown eyes the same shade as Opt, and black hair that came down to her chest, with a face that would normally be beautiful, when not plagued by the mortified look it bore as she registered Opt. It had only taken a few seconds for her to recognize Opt. Opt, bent double against the wind, eyes half shut in an attempt to stop the rain getting into them, looked awkward, even in the struggle to battle against the elements. He was awaiting her response. The woman was frozen to the spot, unable to believe what she was seeing.

"Adia, it's ... it's me," Opt called, trying to make himself heard above the wind. At the sound of his voice, she regained her bearings, and managed to stage-whisper,  
"Well, you'd better come in," reluctantly. Opt obliged, glad to be out of the rain, and stepped into her house. She slammed the door.  
"You tried to kill me, I left Azñaon for a reason," she said in a voice that was meant to be an exclamation, but was reduced to a mutter. Opt sighed, he had known it was going to be like this.  
"I know, Ad, I know ... bu' I never wanned teh hurt yeh, I ... I ..." He faltered.  
"Was drunk." Adia finished for him. Opt nodded, swallowing. He did not fear her reaction. He feared the remorse that threatened to invade him. Adia sighed. Leading Opt into the Living Room, she sat down, arms and legs crossed, looking at the man she had ran away from so many years before, standing in the doorway, dripping wet, looking like an extra from the movie, _The Storm of Kandarin's Secret_.

"Why are you here, Opt0p0s?" She demanded of him.  
"Ad, I jus' came here to tell yeh that am sorreh fer what I did. I nev'r mean' teh hurt yeh," he insisted.  
"What do your intentions matter? It's that you did it that counts." She held up an arm to show the long, thin scar running diagonally across. "You can say sorry a hundred times and this scar wouldn't fade. You can't repeal your mistakes, Opt0p0s."

"And why'd'yeh steal all the money?" He persisted. She pursed her lips.  
"I'm not saying I'm proud of it, Opt, but, I wanted revenge on you. I wanted you to pay for that. It's not just that, though. My father was dying, he was suffering from a slowly acting poison that would've killed him if I hadn't been able to pay for the healing magic. I was desperate. I was just like you are now - I hope - a vagrant. I didn't have the money to ... I just couldn't ... he wouldn't've ..." She trailed off. Her legs and arms unfurling, a tear ran down her face, as she looked down at the floor.  
"Then I fergive yeh, Ad. But I jus' want yeh to be able teh fergive me for doing whut I did." Adia looked up at him, still crying silently. Opt could not contain it either. He began to shed tears from his eyes, and the memories of the many years ago were opened, like a time capsule preserved over the years, only to be opened on a special occasion. Only this was not a special occasion. This was the moment that he knew would have come in time, that he knew would've had to be dealt with.

"I ... I forgive you Opt," she choked. Opt gently sat down on her lap, and wrapped his arm around her. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he gently stroked her hair, as she closed her eyes, and immersed herself in the feelings that had overcome her so suddenly.

So she didn't have time to react when the black bolt of magic came soaring through the window, and hit her in the back. Opt, suddenly alert, saw her fall to floor, still alive, but unconscious. He stood up, panic building up inside him, searching around for whoever cast the spell. He did not see the black-robed figure outside raise it's arms to cast the second magic curse.


	6. Chapter 6 Battle Stations

**Daron's Quest  
****Chapter 6: Battle Stations**

"You must teach me how to fight."

It was not raining the following day, but the atmosphere was grim. A grey, cloudy sky that hid the Sun away, and blew gusty winds to and fro. Most people were still inside. But not all of them. Standing by the river of Hemenster, was a man, brandishing a powerful longsword, and practicing expert fencing moves, giving a shout every time he thrust the sword at his invisible enemy. The man's name was Gladius, an Ardougnian Hero, who was learned in the art of combat, and was long renowned as Ardougne's most professional warrior. His rock-hard determination was evident on his face, even though he could have sliced a fly into sixteenths within less than a second. Yet he was a vain man, not so much in his looks, but in his skill. He liked to impress passers-by by using his signature move, which involved alot of complicated slashes and thrusts, and acrobatic moves. When alone, however, he continued to practice the more mundane techniques. Apparently, nobody yet had challenged him to a fight, which he himself claimed was surprising, owing to "the many adventurers ardent for a challenge," as he put it himself. But he had tutored many people, and taught them how to fight for themselves, everybody in Ardougne sent aspiring swordsmen off to Gladius to train. Daron was one of those people. He wished he had Opt here with him, but as he was nowhere to be found, there was nothing that he could do about it. But it was all important. He had to do this, Opt, or no Opt.

"So, you think you're actually worthy to learn?" Gladius queried, with an annoying upper-class accent, critically eyeing Daron up and down. Distaste was the first thing Daron saw in the eyes of the warrior. He knew that this man was an excellent fighter, and the problem was that he obviously knew it. He was going to be hard to take on, but Daron would have to bear with him.

"Of course, I'm up for any kind of hell thrown at me." Daron managed a smile. Gladius' reaction was instantaneous. Before Daron could even blink, the warrior was no longer there, and was within a hair's breadth of him. His sword was held up high, the blade leaning against Daron's forehead. It was a vicious and heavy blade, that could probably slice him in half with a simple flick.

"Were you ready for that, child? No, I think not." He turned his back to Daron, holding the sword like a cane, with the blade buried into the ground, hands gripped around the handle. "You show lack of instincts, of reflex. You made no effort even to attempt to defend yourself. What excellent properties can I possibly hope to procure from you, child?" Instead of waiting for a reply, Gladius tugged the sword out of the ground, and with an expert throw, flung it at the nearest tree. It landed dead on in the middle, the blade coming out the other side. He then reached out his hand, and beckoned. The sword glowed, and it removed itself from the tree, flying, handle-first, back into Gladius' gauntletted hand.

"Melee, Magic, and Range, boy, they're the three essential parts of combat. Prayer is also a useful aid, as is Summoning, but the former three are what builds up a true warrior." Daron nodded along, while secretly wondering what all of that meant. Gladius immediately read the expression before Daron could hide it.  
"Do you mean to tell me you do not know what any of these are?" He interrogated.  
"No, not really. I'm a beginner, here -"  
"Beginner, eh? And what reason have you for me to tutor a _beginner_?" He spat the last word with distaste. Daron did not answer. Instead, he merely pulled his wallet out of his inventory, and flicked it open, exposing all the gold coins inside.

It was enough. Daron knew that this would seal the deal, offering him money to be mentored.  
"Then it is done," he confirmed. "I shall mentor you so long as you pay me 30k. What is your name, child?"  
"Daron."  
"Your _full_ name?"  
"9Daron99."

Gladius sighed theatrically. "You lack maturity even in your name ... Daron, we shall see to that, indeed. So long as you are under my tuition, you shall follow my rules, and my etiquette. Before you could even imagine receiving a weapon, I shall teach you the techniques in which you use the sword ..." And so the lecture began. Daron nodded along, making sure to concentrate, knowing what he would be doing would make this better. He realized that this was going to be tough. But, it was all necesary, he reminded himself, and anyway, after this, he had to find Opt. This would be a busy day.

All hell was bent loose.

As the blurry grey shapes swam in front of his eyes, Opt slowly began to return to consciousness. When he finally managed to decipher the objects ahead of him, it was only then that he realized how bad a situation he was in. He was suspended in mid-air, with no clothes on, encased in a field of rapid energy ascending from the floor. It was being projected by one of five circular discs on the ground, and the cyclindrical energy field rose to the roof. He looked to his left and right. Adia was not there. Opt just prayed that, if he had been captured, she had got away. But he had no idea where he was. A few chairs sat facing him, and some deadly weapons were on display on the walls, like animal trophies, only alive and vicious. The fear within him grew stronger as he looked around the containment room, confronting the armoury present. As of now, nobody else was in the room.

How had this happened? He was in Adia's house, and then suddenly, someone had hit him hard, he had fell to the floor ... what the hell happened next? Dread and misery surged through him, his blood had turned to ice, and his stomach churned. And he felt so cold, why was it so cold in here? He couldn't see any windows in there. Not that such an awful place would have windows, but, was there a possibility of him being underground? He pounded against the energy field, and retracted his hand in pain, it had given him a powerful electric shock.

Suddenly, somebody entered the room, it was impossible to tell who, because they were hidden under a dark cloak and hood. They definitely weren't one of the good guys, Opt reckoned. Another one of them entered. The first sat down, but the second approached Opt.

"You're Opt0p0s. Resident of the small town Kalan on the island Azñaon." It was a statement, not a question.  
"No, no, yeh got me all wrong, that ain't me! I dunno whut y-yer talking about!" He shouted, desperately.  
"Don't lie, Opt0p0s, we're not stupid, and we know who you are." The man used magic to lower the electric field. However, Opt was still immobilised, and there was nothing he could do to escape. The man drew out a sword and sliced Opt viciously on the arm. Opt gave a piercing shriek of agony, as the wound started to bleed. "We also know that you're friends with 9Daron99, the aspiring hero, who wants to try and get rid of our Dark Dragon," he continued, relentlessly. "So you'd better tell us where to find Daron, Opt, or you'll pay."  
"I dunno, I tell yeh, I dunno!" The man slashed Opt again, this time across the chest, Opt gave another scream of pain.  
"I told you," his voice began to rise with anger, "Don't fuck with me. Tell me where he is, now!"  
"Y-Yanille," Opt sobbed, still writhing with pain, blood still dripping from the two fresh wounds across his body.

"He's lying, Rane," said a woman, the one sitting down in the chair.  
"R-Rane?" Opt stammered. "Y-y-yer R-Rane?" Rane took off his hood, to show his all too familiar face. Opt's eyes widened, as the soft blue eyes preyed upon the mess that was Opt, in agony at the torturing pains on his arm and torso, sopping wet with tears. Rane leaned close.  
"Yes, I'm Rane." He growled. "But don't worry, you won't be there to tell Daron. So you might aswell tell us where he is, anyway," he threatened. Opt continued to sob.

"So, I'm going to ask you one more time ..." And then he shouted, "Where, is, Daron?!" Opt finally admitted defeat. The misery was numbing the pain now, and only that was left.  
"H-he's, he's in A-Ardougne ..." He sniffed, head drooping.  
"Thanks, Opt. You could have made this alot easier for us, but at least we now have his location."

Rane grinned. He brought the sword up, and slit Opt's throat. As the wound opened, and the blood gushed out of his neck, he started to retch, and choke up blood, while desperately clawing for air that was escaping out of his throat. As his eyes grew wide, his face white, he felt himself began to drift away from the mortal world. It was nothing like falling asleep. Instead, he was drifting away from all consciousness, his thoughts, memories, snaking away into the darkness. His mind began to empty as images of his life behind him swam before his eyes, the physical world slipping away from him. Everything that he had ever known, the people that he had loved, the many things he had done. So much of it was now lost, as all he knew was the sinking sensation, the feeling of floating away from life as he knew it. All of it had been a dead end from the start. His decision to follow the past had ended his past, present, and future.

And at last, he knew no more.

Opt was dead. And now Ghost Knife were ready to move in.

-

Misthalin was a whole other planet to Azñaon. While the Azñanan towns and cities were idle, and free from the hustle and bustle, nearly everywhere in Misthalin sought to emphasise the opposite. Busy streets full of busy people comprised of rich, poor, skillers and pures. Especially Lumbridge, where everybody got sent after death, and all newbies were born. Not to mention one of Gielinor's most busy teleport destinations.

"Hey, where can I get that hat?" One man asked another wearing a grim reaper hood.  
"Buying law rune!" A mage announced.  
"_For fast and cheap Runescape Gold, visit .com,_" iterated a robot.

Tiran was one of these Misthalinians, a level 99 miner, who had 90 smithing and was aiming for 99 likewise. He was passing Lumbridge Square, and heading past the graveyard, walking purposefully towards the second mine, located south-east of Wizard's Tower. Armed with an Inferno Adze, an elite tool that would help him mine lots of ore at once, he set to work on the coal rocks. When he had accumulated a full inventory, he headed back to Lumbridge Square. Walking up the stairs to the bank in the castle, he deposited his ore in the bank, then left the castle again.

That was when Tiran felt the ground shake and rumble under his feet. His concern growing, everybody there suddenly shut up, as they felt it too. A swordsman who had been attacking a Man in Lumbridge had his sword raised above his head, but as he stood still, alarmed by the supposed forewarnings of an earthquake, the sword proved to be too heavy for him, and he fell backwards. Nobody said anything, at all. Then the second rumbling came. As if a button had been pressed, everybody started milling about uncertainly, some walking out of the square. Tiran stepped forward, at the entrance, and looked left and right. Then up.

That was when he heard the deafening roar that paralysed him to the very spot, before he had even seen the large, dark, black shape in the sky soar over the Square, and then head straight for it. An unlucky man standing in it's way had been ripped apart by it's vicious claws. That was when the screaming began.

-

"Okay, so I have I got this right? This ... is a stab, but when I step forward ... it's a lunge?" Daron asked his mentor, Gladius, holding a wooden stick that served as a makeshift sword until Gladius permitted him to use a real one. Daron had not yet told Gladius about Katra's old rune two-handed sword, he feared the mentor would disapprove of his owning an enchanted weapon before being granted permission.

"No, no, no, child, you are doing it incorrectly. Anyway, the terminology is not the most important, it is the _technique_ that matters," Gladius tutted. "Let me show you how to stab once more. Remember, we stand in the correct stance ... follow my example, 9Daron99 ... good, then, raise your non-sword hand in a guard position ... now move it forward in a perfect line. No! Don't lock your arm into place like that, keep it extended, but loose ..." Daron tried his best to follow the mentor's instructions, but he was overcomplicating it, and being meticulous about every aspect. Daron dared not say anything, though, incase Gladius decided to increase the payment.

"Okay, so what about the lunge, what stance do I need to use when moving forward?"  
"Keep the same stance you use for a stab, 9Daron99, and advance upon your enemy, but _don't_ sink into it, using your front leg, widen your stance ... yes, that's better."  
"Am I going to be using a _real_ sword soon, or am I just going to slay my enemies with a wooden stick?" Daron interrupted.

Gladius screwed up his face into an expression of repulsion.  
"A _real sword_?" He repeated, as if the three syllables were humorous to him. "What on _Earth_ would you be needing that for?"  
"The same reason I'm here, learning ... without a sword."  
"Keep quiet, boy, what will you _ever_ learn if you lack such concentration. Now, back to the basics."

Daron sighed.

-

The name of the stooped, elderly man that stood at the entrance to Yanille, smiling at newcomers, was Retinik. He was a kindly old man, and loved to be in Yanille. He had once been a professional mage in his younger years, but that had all slipped away from him now. He still liked to visit the Magic Guild, every so often, and say hello to those he had once tutored when they were all but children. They had grown so much, and now they were the mages of the Magic Guild. He liked to reminisce about the times, many years ago. And yet, sometimes the nostalgia was a painful entity, sometimes, it reminded him of how far he had come, and how soon he was going to die. He didn't like the images in his mind that plagued him as he thought this. The pictures running through his head, the memories of all the people he had loved, and lost. And yet life was giving him one more blessing. As it progressed, it slowed, almost to a stand-still, to allow him to relish every moment, to lust for all the peaceful bliss out there in the world. This was one of these days, a day where he could walk through the forests, stopping to smell the breath of fresh air, and to sit by the rivers, watching all the fish weave their way through the water.

"Hi, Ret." A cheerful friend of his called out as he passed. Retinik waved, and gave a warm smile back. As the man made his way out of Yanille, he stopped at the entrance. He stood still. Deadly still. Retinik could not see his face, but he could see the man had gone white. He turned round. His pale face contorted with alarm, and fear. In the distance, blazing sounds could be heard, as a few people spawned out of a fire teleport spell. A spell of dark magic. One only used by dark wizards.

"Retinik! Run! Ghost Knife are here!" The man screamed. He made a desperate attempt to run, but then Ghost Knife emerged. The leading troop member raised his hand. As it glowed with a burning red light, a ball of energy amassed in the hand of the mercenary. As he fired the projectile spell, it hit the unfortunate man on the back, who crumpled to the floor, quite dead. Retinik could not move for the fear that paralysed him. Eventually, he came to his senses and ran. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him. He made it to the bank, where he stood at the door, and managed to wheeze "Ghost Knife are -"

Then, he broke off, his eyes widening, face growing paler. He fell forwards to the floor, revealing the hooded Ghost Knife operative standing behind him. People screamed, some made an attempt to run, those that tried were slaughtered. Now, barricading the door were several corpses, including Retinik's. The man at the door raised a hand, and as a big ball of fire sprang to life in his palm, everybody fell silent.

"I'd listen to us, if I were you," the man shouted. "Now, if you're all good, and you co-operate with us, nobody else dies unnecesarily. And nobody makes any smart moves, or you all die." With the burning orb of fire in his hands, nobody was about to argue. Looking around the room, waiting for somebody to challenge him, the Ghost Knife operative with the fire then pressed on.  
"There is a Dark Dragon in Lumbridge," he announced, proudly. Many people gasped, stifling screams, but others merely looked shocked beyond their beliefs. "It is under our command, and will do whatever we wish it to. We know you all have relatives in Lumbridge. Right now, they are fighting for their lives, and the city of Lumbridge as you know it is being ripped apart. This will continue, and then proceed to all the other cities - including Yanille - if you do not submit yourself to us. Join our ranks, and aid us in the search of a man named 9Daron99."

"We'll never join you! You're filth!" A man shouted. He had made a mistake. Nobody said a word. Including the man. Still holding a fire in his hands, he paused.  
"You know, I was going to eliminate trouble-makers with a simple killing spell, but ..." he turned around, and looked at the others, who nodded. "I think we ought to make an example, don't you?" Using his free hand, he used a telekinetic spell to drag the man along beside him, who was pale, and sweating. "Here's why you don't mess with us, everybody." And with that, the man thrust his hand into the other's mouth, the hand still carrying the fire. Burning the man from the inside, searing hot fire in his throat. The face of the victim who had dared speak out was bright red, his eyes wide open, letting out a muffled scream, while choking on the hand, and being burnt alive. He was being tortured, horribly, unspeakably, and the man was dying by the seconds. Finally, with one last jerk of his body, the man lost all the tension in his body. Eranar, the man under the hood, who had just killed the man, took his hand out of the mouth of what was now a corpse.

"So, you really don't want to fuck with us, people of Yanille, because you will die. So." Eranar grinned. "Welcome to Ghost Knife, new members." The real Ghost Knife operatives, standing behind Eranar stepped forward, all bearing new robes. Nobody moved, as the robes were forced over everybody. Not the man clever enough to hide behind the counter, using a Ring of Stone. Nobody noticed him, as everybody was being forced into Ghost Knife robes. The moment the robes were on the new members, they tightened themselves by magic. Their faces disappeared under the new darkness magic in the hoods, the robes stuck to their bodies. And then their minds were invaded, being brainwashed. All good thoughts were being ridded of, and only the superiority of Ghost Knife, and the skills they possessed, replaced those thoughts.

Ghost Knife were not only creating new members. They were forcing them to want it.

And so their new slaves were functional. Half of the people standing in that bank had lost their identity. All that stood there now bore black robes, marking Ghost Knife. And nobody, still, noticed the man who had managed to sneak out. As the slaves were forced to march out of the bank, Eranar then proceeded to set light to all the buildings, still armed with flame. The man turned around, hid behind the bank, peeking out of the sides, watching the horror that lay before him. As Yanille blazed, completely alight, the procession of new members wandered out, the slaves and real members alike teleporting away. The man was now terrified. It was the start of an invasion. It was the start, of the end, of the world, and everything in it. The man stashed away his Dragon Armour, and then ran along to the entrance, completely alone. Ghost Knife had now deserted the scene, and Yanille was becoming nothing more than rubble. He stepped outside, making sure the coast was clear. Then, he threw down a teleport, and hugged his arms as he descended into the portal that would take him to Ardougne.

It was Ulrich. Ulrich had seen the invasion of Yanille, had heard about the Dark Dragon, and he knew that he had to find Daron and warn him. But where would he be? The last place he had seen him was in the forest outside Kalan. As he descended into Ardougne, and landed skilfully on his feet, he searched around the square, desperately looking for somebody.  
"Gladius! Gladius! Where the hell are you?! I need you!" He ran, not sure which direction to go, and then decided on heading east out of Ardougne. As he got to the entrance, he skidded. He could sense it. Approaching fire teleports. They were coming! Ulrich raised his hands, and lifted a magical barrier up to the walls of Ardougne. It would not hold long, but it would stop magical and ranged attacks, it would also bar them entrance until they summoned it down. Of course, he thought this _as_ he ran for Hemenster, where he realized he should have gone in the first place.

He dashed out of the North Entrance, remembering to leave another barricade behind him. He saw Gladius.

Gladius was with somebody else. It was Daron.

As Ulrich approached Daron, the two stared into each other's eyes, and gasped, Ulrich clutching his ribs for breath.  
"Daron!" Ulrich ran forward and hugged Daron. "I can't believe you're here! You came to Kandarin! You actually did it! Sorry, that's not the most important thing right now," he rambled desperately. "Ghost Knife are here! They're here, Daron! They've burnt down Yanille, made it's population into slaves for them, set the Dark Dragon on Lumbridge, and are looking for you to kill!" Gladius was alert. He had lost all of his posh manner, and was completely serious.  
"Did you barricade the Entrance?" Gladius demanded.  
"Yes, but it won't last long, they'll break through eventually!"

"Where did you come from, anyway, Ulrich?!" Daron breathed. Ulrich put a hand on Daron's shoulder, still struggling for breath.  
"It's a long story, look, our priority is to keep you safe!" Ulrich replied. Gladius nodded.  
"How many are there?" He asked.  
"Thirty, at least, excluding slaves."  
"Alright then. We need somebody to keep Daron safe."  
"I'll do it," Ulrich volunteered.  
"No, no, we need you to fight, you have powerful magic. And we must round up all the knights and warriors in Ardougne. Including the Paladins, make sure they are in the fight. BATTLE STATIONS!" Gladius roared, holding his sword up.

Already, some of Ghost Knife had found their way around, and were drifting towards the north entrance like ghosts. Many were firing at the Hemensterians, Gladius and Ulrich both firing projectile counter-spells, as they shielded Daron, running with him towards Ardougne. Ulrich lowered the barrier to allow them through, then raised it when they were inside. Gladius added his own protective enchantment. As Gladius ran off to inform all the other fighters, Ulrich held Daron close.  
"Whatever you do, don't try to fight. Stay out the way."

Raising his arms in white light, Ulrich summoned a Dragon about twice Daron's size. "This Dragon will defend you, take him. He'll obey your every command." Daron was amazed. The creature was twice his height, and yet it was docile as anything. Ulrich ran off to aid Gladius, firing another protective spell at the barricade before he left. Soon, he realized that he was alone, and standing not far from the North Entrance. He was startled to see Ghost Knife already making an attempt to unlock the barrier. Daron looked up at the Dragon. Nervous, and not sure if it understood English, he tried to command it.

"Umm ... would you ... would you be able to fly over the barricade, and, and attack them?" Daron thought he sounded silly, talking to the Dragon, but to his surprise, the Dragon bobbed it's head, in what was clearly a nod. It then rose into the air, and glided over the walls, then swooped down upon the Ghost Knife members. They were not to be attacked so easily, they all fought it off, but two were killed by the Dragon's flames. They waved their swords at the Dragon, and tried to stab it, but the Dragon, despite it's size, managed to dodge all the blows easily. Clawing at them again, another one was killed. Daron realized that the Dragon had provided a perfect distraction, none of them made any attempt to destroy the barricade. Then, one of them came to his senses, and resumed firing destructive spells at the barricade. Daron saw what the man was doing, and half of them followed suit, the other half were fighting the Dragon.

"Stop them!" Daron shouted to the Dragon. The Dragon looked at him, and then, with an almighty crash, dived at them, crushing them to the ground. Only three were left. The one in the middle, dodging a swipe of it's claws, raised it's sword, and stabbed the Spirit Dragon. It faded away, and now Ghost Knife were focused on Daron. He turned around, and ran. He ran towards Ardougne Square, and there he saw the battle. Gladius and Ulrich in the middle, aided by Paladins, Knights, Warriors, Heroes, and even the locals, trying to fend off Ghost Knife, who had managed to break through the first barricade. Some had been captured, and turned into slaves, who were also fighting the battle, but now on the opposite side. Gladius, however, was utterly ruthless. He slayed every black-robed figure he saw, and when he recognized it as a slave, he sliced their robes off, freeing them. It was the ultimate battle of the forces, both trying to dominate the other. Ghost Knife were trying to capture more people to turn into slaves every second. And it was getting worse still.

The Dark Dragon had destroyed Lumbridge.

Ghost Knife were invading all the other cities, burning them down, and enslaving the remnants.

It was all because of Daron.

They all wanted to kill him.

Daron gasped as he saw the scene ahead of him. And that was when somebody from Ghost Knife spotted him.

"Oh ... no."


End file.
